


Can I Wake Up Now Please?

by Ginger_kitty



Series: Tomorrow is Promised to No One [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Betrayal, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mentions of Cancer, Minor The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, Trespasser Spoilers, broken trust, hard choices, justice in the fade, minor cassandra/cullen, solas is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_kitty/pseuds/Ginger_kitty
Summary: What if the 'here/now Earth person' transplanted into their favourite story wasn't someone looking for a place to belong?  What if they had a place, a family, a life that was torn from them by the fickle hand of a trickster God who cared nothing for those things?
Relationships: Alistair/Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Male Trevelyan
Series: Tomorrow is Promised to No One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824676
Comments: 22
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the ideas in here I directly acknowledge Robert A Heinlein's books as my inspiration (and my Get Out of Jail Free Card).
> 
> This is another different version of the DA universe from my other works. We have Warden Tabris, Warden Alistair, Queen Anora, Male Rogue Hawke hiding out with Anders and Male Warrior Trevelyan who is a Templar.

Once, there was a village on the side of a mountain. The people were isolated, suspicious of strangers; they lived to protect a secret, their village founded to hide the entrance to the most sacred place in their world, and they gave their lives to that duty. Over the centuries they stayed hidden, out of sight, going into the world only when necessary, to bring new blood to their village so their legacy would live on. But over time their goal became perverted, their reason for existing fell before a dark cult who took control of every aspect of the villagers lives and brainwashed them into believing it the will of the Maker.

There was a Blight in the land, but the tiny village knew nothing of it. Civil war and treachery did not touch them, until the strangers started to come. Only a knight or two, then a scholar, then the Hero of Ferelden and her companions came and chaos came in her wake. Their Goddess was dead, the members of the dragon cult with her, while the innocent and the ignorant reeled and more and more strangers came to pay homage to the ashes that had been all but forgotten. The Blight was defeated, the civil war ended but it was a decade of instability, ending in a war that threatened to unravel everything they knew. So far-away powers decided on a final desperate chance to heal the broken continent and chose to bring the world to Haven.

Now there was a hole in the very fabric of reality and Maxwell Trevelyan stood directly below it. Behind him a handful of Leliana's hand-picked soldiers battled the demons that poured from the smaller rift, his life dependent on people he had met hours ago when he had wakened in chains with no idea how he got there and a piece of the Fade itself embedded in his hand. Now the woman who had accused him of causing all this fought behind him, keeping a pride demon away with an elven apostate and a notorious dwarven rogue and Max still had no idea what he was doing as he held his hand towards the rift that could have been the origin of all this and felt like draw to like as the mark pulled energy from the Veil, pouring it into the gaping hole in reality, his whole body on fire as if the universe itself were pouring through him. The smaller rifts he had closed had been nothing to this one, it felt like he was being ripped apart, as if everything he was, body and soul, was being used to melt the edges of the Veil together. And suddenly, it wasn’t. Strength and peace flowed through him, pushed out of him, the final energy needed to seal the rift brought him to his knees, brought his arms out in supplication to the universe as the light of the rift flared and gained substance, and when it faded he knelt in the ashes with a woman in his arms.

There was shocked silence in the temple, ragged panting of hard pressed soldiers the only sound in the aftermath of battle, then crunching steps as the warrior, the mage and the rogue moved towards him over ash and debris and Max felt the world shift, his stomach lurch, and then it all went black.

\--------

Cullen felt the power flare, even through the haze of battle, and knew that the survivor had reached the rift. As he cut through demon after demon, draining himself to cleanse the area to protect his people from being bombarded with ice and fire, watching the shape of the fighting to see what flank was faltering, to reinforce the centre, to direct the few mages and fewer templars to support harried soldiers, he prayed to the Maker and to Andraste that the men and women inside the temple would prevail and see an end to this horror.

They all felt it when the rift closed, the few remaining demons suddenly reduced in power as their connection to the Fade was severed and they were cut down. The groaning of injured soldiers replaced the sounds of battle and Cullen shouted for the healers who had waited at the forward camp until they were needed. He moved through the troops, congratulating, encouraging, commiserating, refusing to stop until he reached the entrance to the temple itself. Above him, the Breach filled the sky and in his heart he wondered if anything would ever close it. But for now it was quiet, no longer pulsating, no longer sending demon after demon down into the blood covered plain, and he thanked the Maker when he saw Cassandra and then Leliana exit the sacred ruins. Running was beyond him, his limbs too heavy after fighting for hours with sword and shield and his templar skills, but he moved as quickly as he could as two of his soldiers carried the unconscious prisoner and he called for a healer and the stretcher bearers. Part of his mind noted the apostate leaving, followed by Varric, both of whom looked shaken but blessedly whole. The apostate seemed to be the only one who knew anything about what was happening and Hawke would appear from wherever he was hiding to personally skin Cullen alive if anything happened to the dwarf. In fact, he was surprised it hadn’t already happened when Cassandra all but kidnapped Varric and dragged him here, but at least a live Varric could protect the Commander and send Hawke in the right direction to vent his ire. Behind them the soldiers were filing out, some carrying their comrades and he waved those towards the tents that were being set up at the edge of the plain.

His people sorted, he could focus on Cassandra and Leliana, lurching forward for a report then stopping in confusion as a woman was laid beside the prisoner. He knew most of his small band of troops by sight but not her, and the only others who should have been inside were accounted for. Besides, he would have noticed this woman, anyone would, she made Varric's Rivaini pirate friend look subtle. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but it was hard to tell under the heavy, plum coloured makeup, a gold hoop in her nose attached by a dainty chain to another in her ear, while diamond studs trailed up the length of the other ear. Her hair was a bright pink at the crown, shading through purples to a deep blue at the tips. Her clothing was outlandish too, a knee length dress that looked like it had been cut from the night sky with black silk hose and shoes he doubted even Ana could walk in. He looked over at Cass and Ana and raised an eyebrow but they just shrugged and beckoned him over. 

"What happened?" He frowned at Cass as she tried to hide a burn around her forearm, characteristic of a pride demons lash and he handed her a potion from his belt. She smiled at him before downing the bitter potion like a shot, leaving Leliana to reply as best she could. 

"Trevelyan closed the rift, he has been unconscious since. We thought it would seal the Breach but Solas believes it is at least stable for now so we have a respite. The woman… appeared as the rift closed…"

He interrupted without thinking, "Another survivor from the Conclave?" How many were there, was every rift hiding someone who had been in that explosion? Could they be rescued? Leliana slowly shook her head. 

"Look at her, Cullen. She did not fall from the rift, or step from it, it was as if she was made from the light as it closed, she just appeared in his arms. I… We thought he was going to fail, the power he was drawing was crushing him, blood pouring from his nose, his mouth, his eyes. Then suddenly there was a surge and the rift closed and there she was. Whoever she is, I think he would have failed without her."

"The Maker sent her to us. We can discover the rest now we have time to regroup." Cassandra's dark caramel voice was hoarse with exhaustion, her pale skin even whiter and only instinct sent Cullen forward to catch her as she began to drop, the endless hours since the explosion finally catching up with her. As he carried her towards the tents, he cast a glance back at the strange woman and the survivor, Trevelyan, lying side by side. They were a mystery for Leliana to solve, for now his job was to care for his troops and his friends, he would worry about anything else later. 

\------

The journey back down to Haven took most of the next day, only a token force could be left behind to guard the priests in their duty to cleanse the temple and bring rest to the souls of those who died there. Moving the incinerated remains would take months, even with mountain winds carrying the ashes to the heavens and there was no hope of identifying the bodies to bring peace to their loved ones. 

For three days Trevelyan and the mystery woman lay unconscious. The whispers had begun of the 'Herald of Andraste', led from the Fade by Andraste herself to save the world. Only those who had been in the temple knew of their other saviour and they had been sworn to secrecy. The 'Herald' lay in a comfortable cabin in the centre of Haven, the woman in one of the penitents cells in the Chantry, not quite a prisoner, but not quite free. The elf, Solas, moved between the two and reported to Cassandra twice a day that there was no change and the arguments over what would happen next raged in what had once been the Revered Mothers study. On the third day Trevelyan woke to find himself no longer treated with suspicion and hostility but with a superstitious reverence that was far more unsettling. The woman from the Fade slept on. 

Leliana visited her often, she loved a challenge and this stranger was the ultimate challenge, for she gave no clues to her identity. Washed of her makeup her features gave no real clues to her origin, anywhere from Orlais to the Free Marches, her skin too pale for further north. Her clothes were nothing Ana had ever seen, material, style, even stitching completely unfamiliar and those shoes, delectable as they were, they were an impossibility, supple leather dyed the red of kiss-swollen lips, the narrowest heels she had ever seen and at least six inches long. They distracted her with images of digging them into Alistair's back as he fucked her and again she cursed him for disappearing with Kallian just when she needed them the most. 

She was trying to drag her mind back from fantasies of her warden lovers when the woman jerked upright with a scream. Her eyes were wide and her limbs tight as she shook, she looked as though she would have a fit and Ana could already hear footsteps thundering down the hall. Cullen entered and almost immediately left again in search of Solas. Ana wrapped her arms around the woman, stroking her back as the shaking turned to great, gulping sobs, tears soaking her shoulder, air forcing its way from her lungs in wheezing gasps. The cries were settling to tired, heartbroken whimpers by the time Solas arrived and persuaded her to swallow a sedative potion. Soon after the shaking eased and she began to relax against Leliana, who continued to stroke her back and whisper reassurance to her. Eventually the tension slackened completely into sleep and Ana could lay her down on the bed to be watched over by Solas while Cullen followed her to the newly dubbed 'War Room'. 

There they found Josephine pacing the floor, her cobalt and gold silks hissing as she moved, her usually perfect hair escaping in wisps from the intricate braiding. 

"Finally!" She exclaimed, exasperation warring with worry as she poured wine for each of them. "I saw Cullen and Solas all but running here, but I couldn't escape that awful woman, Threnn. What is going on?" 

"Our mysterious guest is awake, Josie." Josephine interrupted her impatiently, 

"Yes, Ana, I presumed that much. Who is she? Where is she from? How did she appear in the temple?" 

Cullen drained his glass in one swallow and walked forward to refill it before answering Josephine’s questions. 

"We know nothing more than we already did. She woke to one of the worst panic attacks I have ever seen." Or experienced, he thought privately. Cass and Ana knew about his past but Josephine was an unknown quantity and although he liked what he saw thus far, he was not naturally inclined to share his troubles with strangers. "Ana helped calm her while I got Solas and she eventually took a sedative. She's asleep for now and Solas will remain with her until she wakes." He looked to Leliana, questioningly. "Do we recall Trevelyan?" 

She shook her head. "They should have reached Mother Giselle by now and be heading back. We need to focus on building the Inquisition and having our voices heard in Val Royeaux. Everything else is lower priority."

With that she finished her wine and made her way back to her tent and the messages pouring in from agents across Thedas. Getting back to business, Cullen gave Josephine lists of items his soldiers needed, from tents to weapons and armour, then they went their separate ways, trusting their mystery woman to Solas while they focused on building the Inquisition they desperately hoped could save the world. 

In the cell below, Solas watched the sleeping woman and wondered. 


	2. Can I Wake Up Now Please?

Gwen woke slowly, dragging her awareness up, fighting the heaviness of sedation. Bits and pieces, images and sounds flashed through her head ( _ bright light, clashing metal, red hair and lilting french, bitter taste of heaviness _ ). She could feel the panic rising up again and ruthlessly pushed it down, deliberately counting her breaths until she could open her eyes.  _ Five things I can see:  _ stone walls; a wooden door - probably oak; torch lit in a sconce on the wall; woven rug on the stone floor; statue of a woman sitting on the mantelpiece.  _ Four things I can touch:  _ triple twist ring of red, white and yellow gold with a topaz, her birthstone, on the fourth finger of her left hand, she twisted it round and round, feeling it ground her; linen sheets, slightly uneven, not machine woven but smooth and soft; quilted blanket woven of rags, different textures under her fingers, rough and smooth, tendrils of thread and wool and small tufts lifting under the scratch of her nail; a leather band holding the end of a long plait in her hair, real leather, not faux, twisted around and knotted.  _ Three things I can hear: _ the crackling and popping of the fire; faint drip of water, just on the edge of hearing; shuffling of figures waiting for her to… no, not helpful; distant singing coming from above, many voices singing together.  _ Two things I can smell:  _ musty, underground damp, a smell she loved going to uni on the subway; incense, very faint, smell of Easter and celebration and funerals and sadness.  _ One thing I can taste:  _ bile and bitter herbs, the smell of the sedative that was poured down her throat. Perhaps it should stress her again but it doesn’t, prompt action is to be applauded, not feared. It gave her time, rising from its depths, to assess, to become aware, to regain control. And control is what matters to her more than anything. 

Finally, she could look at the people in the room. She recognised them all, and she didn’t, real life versions of animated figures and absolutely terrifying for being so. There were four of them, two men, two women, and she could put a name to all four. Well, to three of them which meant she knew who the fourth was, the one standing closest, looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He was tall and broad, with a pleasant but plain face and a nose that has been broken more than once. Olive skin, black hair and large eyes gave him the look of Southern Italy or Greece although his home is a place called Ostwick. He was wearing his armour, white and steel with accents of gold and an orange sash and though she couldn’t see a weapon she was in no doubt that he was a warrior. The other three, his advisors, were watching. Cullen, golden and both more handsome and more tired than pixels can convey, watching her suspiciously, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the ridiculous fur mantle looking far less so on the assured and dangerous man before her. Leliana was also watching her, flawless beauty unmarred by concern or suspicion or anything as mundane as concern, the most deadly creature in the room and she knows it. Josephine was a bit of a surprise, features that always seemed almost ratty on screen are more delicate, her hair and clothing sat in an unnatural perfection, as if being untidy would hand Corypheus the world on a plate. She gazed at the Herald, holding her ubiquitous clipboard as if simply waiting to see what he would do, as if she would arrange a room for Gwen or an execution with the same efficiency she did everything else and never think twice about it. She had always imagined Josephine as a bit of a middle manager, dealing with minutiae and playing politics while the rest did the real work of saving the world but the reality of her was something different. In this Arthurian world, Josephine was a Medici - Montilyet fortunes aside. Of the advisors, the two women were the dangerous ones. Winning over men, especially men with the kind of honesty Cullen Rutherford possessed, had always been easy for Gwen but women were different. Women fell into three camps. There were those who could be lightly flirted with and brought on-side if she felt like it, the ones she treated like men with gentle tones and sweet smiles. There were the tigers, like her, mutual respect and acknowledgement of their ability to manage other people leading to an uneasy rivalry, an edged sorority and infinitesimal power shifts, relationships like a game of chess with well matched players. By far the most numerous group she thought of unkindly as ‘the plebs’. Women who felt her influence and resented it, who mocked her gentle maneuvering as ‘flirtation’ as if it were a bad thing, who had no time or patience for anything or anyone who was different or interested in anything beyond their sphere of reality TV, complaints about immigrants and children and their men and the weather. The two women before her were tigers and would require very careful management. She was well aware her attitudes to other women made her far more enemies than friends and she could not afford these women to be her enemies. Winning them over could not wait.

“Who are you?” She directed it to the Herald, voice rusty and dry but deliberately vulnerable. “Where am I?” She knew very well where she was but until she had a better handle on who this Herald was, she wasn’t giving anything away. The man before her was an unknown and she had to find her feet first before she could decide how much he should know. She had already decided to let Leliana know everything, there was no point trying to hide anything and it wouldn’t hurt to build a relationship with the Spymaster, but the Herald was another matter, some of the possibilities were very dark and he would have to be approached just right.

He held out a cup of water to her and she absently noticed the odd flavours as she sipped. This water had been drawn from the ground and had never seen a filter or chlorination process in its life and it wasn’t unpleasant but it was odd. 

“My name is Maxwell Trevelyan, but please call me Max.” He had a disarming smile and a deep, smooth voice with a hint of an accent, not distinct enough for her to get a handle on and she couldn’t remember if there was an ‘approved’ Ostwick accent. “We’re in Haven and you’re in a penitents cell in the Chantry. You just appeared out of a rift in the middle of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, right into my arms and your family must be worried, we can let them know you’re ok, even get you back to them if you don’t want to stay, but we have no idea who you are or where you came from. Do you remember anything at all?”

She shook her head slowly, wincing slightly at the headache she could tell was caused by dehydration and the slight dizziness and nausea that was almost certainly the result of not having her tablets for however long she had been here. Withdrawal symptoms when she forgot to take them for a day or two were bad enough and it would get worse before it got better but there was nothing to do for now and the sincerity in Maxwell’s voice made her inclined to trust him, even when logic said not to, not yet. But if there was any chance at getting home, her best bets were the elf who knew about these things ( _ who had caused this and could the fact she knew that be leverage) _ and the man who could control them.

“I’m Gwen Jamieson, I’m… I…” She had no idea how to continue, actually talking was harder than she had anticipated and the panic was churning away in her stomach, threatening to rise up and overwhelm her again. She stopped, settled her breathing and grounded herself by twisting her ring and focusing on the feel of it on her finger. Her body solidified around her, becoming hers completely again, and she made her decision.

“My name is Guinevere Jamieson, people call me Gwen. I come from Inverkeithing in Fife, in a country called Scotland. I was drawn here through the rift, I have no idea how or why, but it didn’t just move me between places, it moved me between universes. Because in my universe, you - all of you, all of this - are a story. A collection of stories. It’s not real, just a game and I don’t know why I’m here or how I’m here, or how I get home.” She stopped, breathing heavily, fighting with the panic again, she would get home, no matter what she had to do, she would get back to her family. The room was silent, she could see the disbelief, the pity on their faces, every one of them thought she was insane, obviously, and the anxiety wouldn’t help that image. She had to get herself back under control.

“In my world, there was an author who wrote a book based on the idea that if a story is crafted well enough, loved enough, believed in enough, it could have it’s own life, it’s own universe. That everything that exists begins as a thought. I loved that idea.” She thought about where she was, “Well, I did love it, up until about ten hours ago. And I have to say, I’d rather be surrounded by a bunch of munchkins and Glinda the Good than in the middle of a bloody war against demons and all this insane crap - no offence. Anyway, your story is one that I love, it’s one that spans computer games, novels, comics, art and piles and piles of fanfiction - some of which is good and most of which is just an excuse for people to get their favourite characters to shag.  _ (Wow - Cullen really does turn bright red when he blushes.)  _ But my point is, I don’t think Heinlein ever envisioned the scale of all that creative energy, all that belief, from millions of people across a whole world.”

A voice interrupted, “And if that power overlaps with a critical event, here, and an inadvertent summoning, then theoretically, a person could be drawn across the barrier between universes, across the Void itself. But why that specific person, why you?” The man was what she would think of as average height, bald as an egg with that face that always annoyed her because she suspected it reminded her of someone she didn’t like but she had no idea who, with the pointed ears that indicated he was an elf. And unless someone had gone to a serious amount of trouble to fuck with her, it meant the last chance that this wasn’t really happening had just vanished out the window. Solas walked towards her, brushing past Cullen as if he wasn’t there and earning himself a frown for it.

“I owe you an apology, mistress.” He stood beside Max and looked down at her, slightly flushed. “I intended to draw a spirit to help Maxwell, to give him the strength to close the rift in the hopes that it would close the Breach. Somehow, you appeared instead. Though I did not intend it, I was the one who removed you from your life but I have no idea how to get you back. I am sorry.” He dropped his eyes from hers as if ashamed and Max put his hand on Solas’ arm in support.

“You didn’t know, Solas. You were trying to help.” Gwen nodded along with Max’s words while Cullen frowned behind them.

“I would think summoning a demon when the place was full of them was one of the most foolhardy things you could have done, Master Solas.” The blond man’s voice was harsh, his face unforgiving and she was suddenly reminded that this was a Commander hardened by horrific events, suspicious of mages and struggling with addiction and withdrawal.

“I had no intention of summoning a demon, Commander. I clearly said ‘spirit’, did I not?” Solas’ face was as hard as Cullen’s now.

“Given the risks, you had no way of knowing what would happen. And we might have been lucky at not having another demon land in our midst, but I do not think Mistress Jamieson counts herself lucky to have been dragged from her home and family.” Leliana tried to intervene but he was building up steam. “Do not ‘Cullen’ me, Leliana. His reckless actions could have lost us everything…”

“The Herald was dying, Commander.” Solas’ voice cut through Cullen’s rant. “You were not there, you did not see what was happening. I could not give him my power and still keep the demons from him, but I could call for assistance from spirits - not demons! Spirits who could help him, support him, give him the strength to close the breach and give us hope that this might all be over.”

“And your spirits did not appear!”

“And this woman was brought by my call! Perhaps she is not the help I had envisioned, but your Herald stands here before us, does he not? The rift is closed, the Breach is stable. She may not be the answer I expected, but I believe she is the answer nonetheless. I simply do not know how yet.”

The two men stared at each other, neither willing to back down, until Gwen cleared her throat and five intense gazes were now fixed on her. She stared back at each one in turn, refusing to back down until both Cullen and Solas had dropped their eyes, both looking slightly abashed although she hadn’t said a word. Finally, she looked at Max.

“If I helped you, I’m glad. If I can help more, I will; although I have no idea what use I’ll be since I can’t fight at all, I didn’t even do karate or anything when I was a kid. I’m a nurse so I can help your surgeons and healers in the meantime, but I have to get home.” She had read plenty of novels where the lost and disenfranchised hero found themselves in another world and then truly found themselves - usually with a love interest thrown in for good measure. But she wasn’t lost or disenfranchised. She had a job, a family, she had a life that she loved and people she loved. And she would get back to them if she had to rip this world apart to do it.

“I need to get home and I will do everything I can to help but I expect you to get me back there in return.”

Leliana hummed slightly, “You realise that may not be possible?”

“Never mind possible, the entire world is at stake. With all due respect, Mistress, we cannot divert valuable resources on something that is probably impossible anyway." Cullen’s voice was a mixture of anger and frustration. This was far outside anything they could deal with right now and he had soldiers to train. "If there's nothing else, Lord Trevelyan, I have work to be getting on with." He barely waited for Max's nod before he was out the door. 

Max turned back to Gwen, sympathy in his eyes. "Mistress Jamieson, the Commander is blunt, but he's not wrong. We will give you all the help we can but Thedas is in chaos, people are dying -" 

"It's ok, I understand." Gwen kept her tone gentle, holding back the acid she wanted to pour all over Cullen and remembering thinking "what a dick" every time she encountered him in DA2. He would soften, she knew that, but right now he was still a dick. She smiled at Max, "I wouldn't expect anything else. I told you I'll help as much as I can, all I ask is that you try to help me in return?" 

"We will do whatever we can, you have my word." 

"My Lord," Josephine had obviously decided it was time to move on to more immediate concerns and was already moving towards the door. "We have several issues that need your attention and I have another meeting with Marquis DuRellion." They left with Leliana on their heels, leaving Gwen and Solas alone. They looked at each other, both unsure where to start. 

"I am sorry," Solas began. "This was not my intention." 

Gwen smiled faintly, "I one hundred percent believe that." Then his eyes narrowed and she knew what was coming next. 

"You said in your world, this is all a story?" 

She nodded. "Quite a few stories in fact. So yes, I know who you are and what you've done. I have no intention of sharing that information, though." 

"Why not?" 

"Firstly, because me being here changes the story in itself, the more I interfere, the more it changes." He moved as if to speak and she lifted a hand to forestall him. "It's stories, Solas. Stories always end with good triumphing, evil destroyed. But this isn't a story and there are too many ways this could go. I don't think your idea was bad but the way you did it was shit. The ends don't justify the means when those means are supremacist nutjobs led by a darkspawn magister - stupid doesn't even start to cover it." She could see the tension in his jaw rippling and had no intention of letting him try to justify himself. "You thought it would kill him, I get that. But it didn't and now there's a hole in the fabric of reality and you're trying to put it right. I have no intention of rocking the boat because I want home and you lot are my best chance. So yes I know, no I'm not telling anyone."

For a moment she thought he had more to say, but finally he just turned and left, closing the door gently behind him and she sank back on to the pillows, utterly exhausted. 

"If any Gods happen to be listening," she whispered, "I'd really like to wake up now." She dragged herself up again long enough to finish her water before curling up under the blankets and twirling her ring until she finally fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book is 'Number of the Beast' by Robert A Heinlein. It gets a bit weird at the end, but it's a fabulous book. Read 'Time Enough For Love' first though.


	3. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How far can non-interference really be taken?

Over the next few months life in Haven settled into a routine. The Herald and his friends moved in and out of the village, sometimes spending weeks away as they accumulated allies and enemies in equal measure. The trip to Val Royeaux was a disaster and in spite of Cullen’s arguments Max refused to even consider approaching the templars for assistance and began making plans to take Grand Enchanter Fiona up on her offer of help. A side trip to rescue a squad of soldiers captured by Avvar raiders and one to recruit a mercenary company who had approached Max personally (if inadvertently since their lieutenant didn’t realise that’s who he was accosting outside the Chantry) held those plans up but added valuable resources to the fledgling organisation. 

Whenever he was in Haven, the Herald made an attempt to talk to as many people as he could, particularly the ones he had brought in himself such as Sera or Lady Vivienne. Despite their frequent difference of opinions, Max and Cullen became particularly close. When the Circles had finally fallen, Cullen had chosen to leave Kirkwall and follow Cassandra and Max had stayed at home in Ostwick to help his family stabilise the Chantry dominated city-state and protect his sister, Evelyn, one of the mages of the Ostwick Circle. Discussions about manpower and strategy and training became more personal, shared experiences as templars and mutual friends such as Knight-Captain Rylen leading to deeper discussions and long evenings just chatting and enjoying each other's company. There were things they did not share, topics they carefully avoided, but Max felt more at home with Cullen than he had with anyone outside his family and when he mentioned that his sister had been at the Conclave and was presumed dead, Cullen interviewed every mage and templar that had survived and the ones who filtered in over time, looking for refuge, hoping to give his friend hope. Unfortunately, none of them knew if Evelyn Trevelyan had escaped the Temple of Sacred Ashes and as the months moved on and the Herald’s name became known further afield it appeared likely that Evelyn’s should be added to the lists of the dead.

In contrast, Max and Gwen rarely came into contact. Walking through the village, he would sometimes visit Solas to ask questions about the Fade, fascinated by the elf’s views and how different they were from what he had been taught. Spending time with Evelyn and her associates had caused him to question many of the things he had taken for granted as a templar and he often thought that his sister would have loved to debate with Solas, to learn from him. But thoughts of Evelyn were still painful and Solas accompanied him on many of his journeys so he rarely needed to visit the end of the village where Gwen spent most of her time, learning to brew potions from the apothecary, Adan, or teaching small groups of soldiers to treat burns and lacerations from claws as well as wounds from more mundane weapons. There were so many things to be done that he had taken Leliana’s advice to give the woman time to adjust and did not seek her out.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think about the stranger who had appeared out of the Fade to save them, even if she hadn’t done it intentionally. War council meetings included frequent complaints from Leliana that Gwen would not share her knowledge of their future and thinly veiled suggestions that she should be ‘encouraged’ to do so far more forcefully. Thankfully, Cassandra and Cullen both objected as strongly as Max to the idea of forcing information from her but the Herald worried that it was only a matter of time before desperation led Leliana to do something that - well she probably wouldn’t regret it, but the rest of them might. After one such meeting, he found himself wandering through the village, no real aim in mind except heading to the tavern for some lunch and a chat with the pretty barkeep, Flissa, when he saw Gwen herself emerge from the Adan’s workshop.

The dyes had washed out of her hair leaving it a light brown and the pale winter sunlight reflected off highlights of gold and copper that shimmered around her as she moved. She hadn’t seen him and he watched her carry buckets to the water pump to fill before returning to the workshop. She wore simple tunic and trousers in earth tones, looking for all the world like any of the other women doing their daily work around Haven. Her hands were wrapped in bandages and he knew without asking that they were blistered from the unfamiliar chores; her round face had sharpened and the softness of her body had become more toned in the limbs and back. Large, high breasts that had been partially hidden by a linen shift were accentuated by the tunic and leather trousers shaped themselves teasingly around a soft belly and rounded hips that swayed as she walked across the small square. She wasn’t beautiful but she was - mesmerising. It was only when she had disappeared back inside he noticed the number of soldiers hanging around. There were soldiers everywhere and he had presumed these were here for Gwen’s lessons or to top up their potion stocks, but some of them were already moving on, as if they had only happened to be passing when she emerged. He supposed they might well have been, except that this had always been the quietest part of the village and the obvious blushes on some of the younger faces and cheerful grins on the elder. He recognised Rylen as one of the latter and made his way across to him.

“Didn’t figure you for one of the healer’s admirers, Your Worship,” he said, the thick Starkhaven burr so like Gwen’s own softer accent that he had first assumed she was from that city and it became the centre for the back story Leliana had created for her.

“Is that what this is?” Max asked casually. “Does the Commander know his soldiers are ogling our healer? I’m not sure he would approve. What do you think, Annabel?” Annabel was another mutual friend, one of Rylen’s group who had left Starkhaven with him when its Knight-Commander abandoned his post. She was a talented warrior and an intelligent commander and now she was blushing like the maiden Max knew she certainly was not.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maxwell Trevelyan,” she said, “I was on my way to pick up potions from the apothecary and stopped to talk to Rylen.”

Rylen laughed, “And catch an eyeful of Mistress Gwen’s ‘perfect posterior.’” He said it as if he was quoting and judging by the colour of Annabel’s face Max thought he probably was. “I, on the other hand, am purely here for an ogle and happy to admit it. Most of the unmarried pretty women around here are terrifying, at least Gwen doesn’t mind a bit of looking or flirting, long as you keep your hands to yourself. Most days she picks the most useful looking of the crowd and puts them to work fetching and carrying, says she might as well get something out of it too. Not that there’s much of a crowd, just looks more in this small space, and a different handful most days.”

“You’re here most days?” Max raised his eyebrows. A brief glance at someone who didn’t mind was one thing, staring at her every day was not something he would have expected of the honourable ex-templar.

“Every single day and get your head out of the gutter, lad. The Commander asked me to keep an eye out for the girl when he realised how many were taking their time to get potions or lingering after their lessons. They know I’m watching to make sure no one gets carried away and everyone stays respectful.” He was serious now and Max felt a little ashamed for having doubted him. “Gwen’s a smart girl, she can manage a little puppy love, and most of ours are trustworthy, but with more coming in every day we don’t want any… incidents.” They certainly did not. There were whores among the camp followers and in the tavern and the same harsh penalties for anyone who abused them as for pushing unwanted attentions on another, but there were always risks and Cullen and Max had spent a significant amount of time planning how to minimise them. He was suddenly grateful that Cullen was aware and looking out for the sweet, fragile woman who was having to adapt to another world when he was so often away from Haven. He thanked Rylen and walked away, heading for the Singing Maiden and Flissa’s smiles, satisfied that their inadvertent saviour was being protected.

Inside the workshop, Gwen filled the kettle and put the rest of the water to the side. “I still don’t have the hang of cooking over a fire yet, but I can make a decent cup of tea if you like?” Behind her Adan harrumphed as he locked his notes into his desk and prepared to leave his apprentice and her guest to their visit. She looked over at him and laughed, “Come on, Adan, I’m getting better at least, you have to admit that.”

“Yes, I admit that compared to your attempts a few months ago, your tea is now merely disgusting, rather than actually poisonous.”

“Oh go on and get out, you grump. It was only a mild tummy upset and you shouldn’t have had the dried witherstalk beside the tea leaves anyway.” She gazed fondly after the surly apothecary as he left, as different as their personalities were they had grown used to each other and even friendly, Adan learning as much from Gwen as he taught her.

“Have your admirers dispersed?” Leliana leaned back in the chair, watching as Gwen made tea and laid out some scones she had managed to get as soon as the baker took them from the oven and then kept warm at the hearth. At least once a week they took tea together and Gwen knew Ana loved Dominics scones more than any fancy pastry, in spite of the Orlesian woman's sweet tooth. She looked out the window briefly.

“Most of them. Rylen’s staring balefully at a couple of the younger ones. I should have got those two to help me carry the water in, it was heavy enough and that’s the third day they’ve been there.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She paused, wondering why she hadn’t when it never usually bothered her to make use of the men and women who ‘happened to be passing’ when she drew the water at this time every day. “The Herald was there,” she muttered, then tried to work out why she would care.

“Does that bother you?” One of the things that really annoyed her about Ana was the woman’s ability to ask questions that seemed innocuous but never actually were. She turned to stare at her and crossed her arms. Leliana simply arched one delicate eyebrow and waited patiently for the answer.

“No,” she hesitated. “Trevelyan being there doesn’t bother me. But he might misunderstand, or think the soldiers are being too forward or something. It’s bad enough Cullen thinks I need a guard dog, at least Rylen has a sense of the appropriate - and a sense of humour. From some of the things Solas has said…” she paused again, reluctant to criticise the Herald but needing someone to listen to her vent. “I think Max thinks I’m fragile, or overwhelmed, or something. And he thinks I’m a lucky charm, some saviour sent from the Maker to help him in his hour of need, that maybe he won’t be able to seal the Breach without me. I’ve repeatedly requested to be sent to teach basic first aid in the forward camps and been refused,” she held up her hand, “and before you tell me that’s some kind of strategic decision, I already know that some of my students have been sent to do just that. I’m not needed in Haven, I could be needed out there; the fact I’m not allowed to go means someone is playing silly buggers and I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

“Perhaps I am keeping you here in the hopes you will finally tell me what I want to know?” There was a hint of a smile on her rosebud lips.

“I doubt it, since you know that’s a waste of time. I would think, if it was up to you, you would have me out there, interacting with people, seeing the damage the demons are causing in the hopes I’ll get so guilty or traumatised I’ll tell you anything.” 

Leliana laughed, a gentle tinkling that sounded genuinely happy in spite of the subject matter. “Would it work? Since the Herald will not allow me to ‘persuade’ you?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Gwen sipped her tea, grimacing slightly and adding more sugar, wishing there was lemon instead. “I tell you A, so you do B, then we end up with Z and who the hell knows what happens next. Is there a reason you’re trying to shock him with threats to torture information out of me? I mean, I presume he doesn’t know you come here for tea and cake once a week?”

“I thought it might move him to let you go out into the field. I agree you could be more useful out there. And I don’t believe you will tell us what I want to know, but I think you want to be helpful in other ways and our Herald’s overprotectiveness is getting in the way of utilising your skills. We have talked about your experience, the differences in our worlds, he knows you have no skills in fighting and such things and, yes he thinks you are fragile and at risk and that we will not succeed without you. Commander Cullen worries about your inability to defend yourself but feels you would be safe traveling with supply caravans between camps and within the camps themselves, and Josephine agrees with me.  _ We  _ want to teach you some basic defence skills and send you out to the camps in advance of the Herald. The skills you have imparted can be passed on by others, Josie and I think it is a mistake not to have your skills where we may need them most. As you know, neither Solas nor Vivienne specialise in healing, in fact, we have no healer mages so far and I’m not sure how many are even at Redcliffe.” She looked sad. “Unfortunately, those who truly specialise in healing are rarely comfortable hurting others. Many have died in this war, many after being exposed by people they helped. Of the two healer mages I have met, one is dead and the other…”

“Is a fugitive being protected by various extremely deadly people.” Gwen finished for her. Anders was out there somewhere and although Varric proclaimed total ignorance of his whereabouts she knew that was a lie. She had pieced together enough from what Ana and Varric separately had shared and what she had read in Varric’s book to know that Anders was wherever Hawke was, and that was where he would stay until she had a chance to talk to Hawke herself. Leliana was right, Gwen was frustrated by her own policy of non-interference and the guilt ate at her, but it was that or risk losing everything, including her chance to get back home. “I would be happy to learn self defence from you, or Josephine, or anyone that will take the time although I think any of the warriors would squish me like a bug.” 

Suddenly, she jumped up with a frustrated screech. “I hate this, I fucking hate it. I want to sit down and give you everything, make plans, set out every little thing, and I’m so afraid that I’ll do that and completely fuck it up and destroy everything. I can’t tell you where Max should go, or what he should do, because of all the things that might change and I know what I want to do but Max isn’t even  _ my _ Inquisitor and…”

“Inquisitor?” Leliana’s eyes gleamed at that bit of information as Gwen sank back down into her chair.

“Fuck!” She said it quietly, hopelessly. It wasn’t the first slip she had made but most of them had been to people who didn’t know enough to put it together, or Solas who wouldn’t give anything away if he wanted her to keep quiet about his part in all this. “Fuck it! Yes, Max will become Inquisitor, or he’ll be offered it anyway, but not yet, not now. Too many things have to happen first and I don’t know if he’ll even accept it.”

“But what do you mean, he isn’t  _ your  _ Inquisitor?” Gwen leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, running her thumbnail under the opposite nails as she had when she broke herself of chewing them. The Spymaster was like a dog with a bone, she would worry at her until Gwen broke down - she knew the woman had been waiting for just this opportunity. But what could she tell her, what would be safe? Could she just make this her own game, move the pieces how she wanted according to what she knew, could she account for all the variables when she didn’t know what most of them were? Could she interfere a little, give hints here and there, without causing too much damage? She knew what she should do according to almost every story she had ever read - keep her foreknowledge to herself. What she wanted to do was manage everybody and everything, move people like characters in the game, make decisions for everyone, but there was no way that would work. Even playing the game she couldn’t always get the choices she really wanted to work out and that was the crux of the matter. This wasn’t a game, these people weren’t a collection of pixels. They were living breathing people who talked to her, listened to her, men and women who didn’t just parrot set phrases as she walked past their static groups but who moved and flowed, carrying out their duties while children played in the streets. Now she was running the edge of her nails along her teeth, trying to ground herself, trying not to imagine what was going to happen to Haven. There was no way everyone could survive, not all the civilians, not all of the children. Could she really sit back and allow this to happen? This was real!

The panic was choking her, ears ringing, breath stuck in her throat and refusing to move while her body shook. She couldn’t focus on anything around her, couldn’t see anything through the tears streaming down her face but she could feel Ana’s arms around her, hear her whispering in her ear, soothing even though she couldn’t make out the words. Images of the worst sights she had seen in A&E, trauma patients she would never forget, none of that would be close to what the approaching army would inflict on this tiny place, the hypothermia setting in, accelerated in the oldest and the youngest and those with wounds, dying on the trek through the mountains and left until there were resources to retrieve bodies. Could she sit back and let that happen, hoping it would work out? What kind of person did that make her?

Leliana was on the verge of panicking too. Gwen’s breathing had become a strident wheeze, barely forced out of tight airways with the edge of shrieking sob. This was worse than when she had first woken up and she knew Gwen had rigid control over her anxiety, necessary since they had no way of replicating her medications, and the withdrawal symptoms had passed months ago. Whatever she was thinking, or seeing, had destroyed that control in one fell swoop and she had no idea what to do about it. So she held the woman in her arms and sang to her, as she had done before, waiting for the storm to pass. After what seemed like hours, the attack ran its course, Gwen’s body unable to sustain such violence any longer, and she went limp in Ana’s arms. She sipped at the potion Ana put to her mouth, the same sedative potion Solas had given her before, until she fell into her first nightmare free sleep in months.

When she woke, Solas was watching over her. Leliana had been called back to her duties and had asked the mage to stay until she could return. His face was sombre, his eyes worried as he gazed at her.

“What wounds your heart, dah’len?” He asked, gently, handing her water to sip as she thought about the last time she had woken like this.

“How do you do it?” He raised his eyebrows in question. “How do you live with yourself, knowing who is responsible for this, knowing what caused it and not telling anyone, offering dribs and drabs of your knowledge as people die?” She sat up, anger giving her strength. “How do you watch those children out there, knowing they might die? How can you live and fight beside Max and Cass and Varric and Bull and the rest and know everything you know? Why aren’t you doing anything?”

“People die, Guinevere.” He rarely used her shorter name. “These people around us will fade and be gone, whether now or later. The damage that has been done, the damage I wish to undo, has lasted millennia. What is one child’s life compared to the millions of my people who have been enslaved or murdered? What is a soldier, or a baker or even a village, to the masses living in pain and squalor, denied their birthrights by my actions? I do what I can to mend my mistakes, but I offer nothing more. None of these people deserves more of me than that.”

She shook her head. “You can’t fight evil with evil, Solas. Death does not justify death, misery is no payment for misery. That’s what started all this, being unable to differentiate between danger and fear, between justice and vengeance. I can’t be like you. I have to do what I think is right?”

“And if you are wrong? If you destroy everything to make yourself feel better now, as I did all those eons ago? If trying to save people ends in death and destruction and millennia of misery?”

“Then at least I will have tried.”


	4. All We Have Is Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - mention of cancer.

Gwen asked for time to herself, one week to think and plan, to decide if the risk was worth the potential gain. She moved into the cabin across the lake and refused to see anyone but Solas. He cast wards around it so no one could hear the debates that turned into arguments that frequently became flaming rows. Their concerns were so different, his lack of interest in anything beyond retrieving his orb and his increasing disillusionment with his own people drove her to distraction. To Solas, everything here was temporary, those saved now would still die one day and be forgotten by history. Gwen might have forgiven his outlook if he hadn't been a condescending bastard about the whole thing. 

He reminded her frequently of her promise to conceal his true nature and his role in this and she gritted her teeth and promised every time, well aware of how important he was in the bigger scheme of things. He refused to give any more information about the orb, or any at all about Corypheus, to the Herald, stating that he had all the information necessary. But their biggest arguments were about Skyhold. Solas refused to give its location, would not believe it necessary no matter what Gwen argued, refusing all suggestions to begin evacuation before the Herald approached the rebel mages. On the fourth day of her self-imposed hermitage, he told her they would be leaving for Redcliffe the next day. Her time to convince him was up, she would need to make her own plans now. 

She watched the small group leave the next morning, standing on the jetty over the frozen lake as they headed around the village to the eastbound road, four figures on horseback leading a band of relief troops and three supply wagons heading to the Crossroads. When the last had moved out of view she went back into the cabin and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as she worked out plan after plan, tugging at option after option. It took two days but finally she was ready to face the advisors. She walked along the lakeside, idly picking elfroot as she went. There was rarely a war council meeting when Max was away so the first person she saw was Cullen, down among the tents overseeing training and interrupted every few minutes by messengers. 

"Commander," she asked once she was close enough to be heard over the clashing of practice swords and shouting sergeants. "I'd like to speak to you in private please?" 

He looked over and smiled at her. Cullen appreciated the work she did to teach his soldiers and keep them supplied with potions and had argued repeatedly that she should be out in the field where she could be most useful. He had also begun to like her personally, appreciating the sixth sense she seemed to have for when any of them needed a restorative or a headache cure. She was sarcastic and sometimes vicious with those who could hold their own but gentle with the sick or injured or the refugees who came hoping for safety and a warm meal.

“Of course, Healer.” She had finally persuaded him to call her Gwen in private, and he asked her to call him Cullen, but in public they were the Healer and the Commander. “Where?”

She tilted her head towards the Chantry. “Can you round up Leliana and the Ambassador for me, please? I’m going to get us some lunch from Flissa.”

“A long meeting then.” He raised his eyebrows. Gwen had cut every meeting short unless it had to do with healing, refusing point blank to discuss anything else. She nodded and moved off, waving to Krem and the Iron Bull as she passed, leaving Cullen to dismiss his recruits and follow her into the village, heading up the hill to Leliana’s tent.

They waited for Gwen in the council room. Josephine had brought her message board and a pile of reports and was working through them while she waited. Ana stood beside Cullen while they chatted quietly. It was always strange to be in this room without Max and Cassandra. When they were away the other three tended to meet elsewhere, Josie and Cullen’s spheres rarely overlapped and Ana always did her own thing anyway but they met at least once a week to share a meal together, sometimes in the tavern but most often in Josephine’s office or the room she and Ana shared with Cass. 

About twenty minutes later, Gwen entered carrying a huge and overloaded basket in both hands. She grinned at Cullen as he jumped to take it from her and the four of them took turns emptying bread, fresh butter, cheeses, cold meats, sliced apples and pears and a large jug of cider onto the war table using the wooden platters Flissa had packed. Josie placed the cider beside the fire to warm and handed round cups of water while Ana buttered thick slices of bread. They filled the smaller platters, chatting about inconsequential things while they ate. Josephine had insisted early on that mealtimes were not for work except in emergencies and eating together had become far more pleasant once everyone was able to relax. they finished, Gwen laid out her plan. All non-essential residents of Haven would be evacuated, most of them to Honnleath since few families had returned after the Blight, leaving more than enough houses vacant. Scraps were wrapped in a cloth to be carried to the compost heap behind the Chantry and leftovers placed back in the basket before the three advisors turned to Gwen expectantly.

She shifted uncomfortably. “I have a plan, sort of. It’s more a series of vague ideas that I want you three to turn into an actual plan, really. I can’t stand back and do nothing, or even just do what I have been doing but I don’t really want to cause a massive time and space event that ends the universe either.”

“What do you want us to do?” Leliana leaned forward slightly.

“I want you to evacuate Haven. Not the soldiers, but the refugees, the villagers. Especially the children. I don’t know when exactly but soon Haven won’t be here any more. I can’t change that, it’s a pivotal moment, you’ll find out exactly who and what you’re up against and your next base will be exactly what you need. But we can save as many lives as possible.” Gwen looked to Cullen. “You know the Hinterlands, don’t you? Is there anywhere the people can be accommodated without interfering too much or putting them at risk?”

He thought about it for several minutes. “Honnleath would be the best bet. After the Blight only a few people returned, my own family stayed in South Reach. There are plenty of empty houses and they would appreciate the skills our people would bring. But why can't you tell us where we need to go next and we can move everyone there if it's so perfect?"

"Because I don't know where it is." Inwardly she cursed Solas' stubborn selfishness, her hands fidgeting together. "I know it's in the Frostbacks and I know that it's been eons since anyone discovered it. I know you'll find it after Haven falls and…" She stopped herself before she revealed that one of Max's inner circle knew exactly where it was and refused to help her, pushing up from the chair and pacing angrily, feeling the knot in her stomach twisting and knowing if she didn't calm herself it would push up into her throat to choke her so she kept walking while her friends watched, experienced enough in her moods by now to avoid disturbing her attempts to convince her body that everything was under control. They had discussed possible uses for her skills, even considered sending her out with Max as the most skilled healer in the Inquisition. Cullen had argued that her lack of any offensive skills would be irrelevant since the Herald's companions were all more than deadly enough to protect her but once they had seen the effects of her illness enough times all discussion was dropped. Her grief was overwhelming, the pain of missing her family, imagining them searching for her, begging the police to find her, going home at the end of another day not knowing that she was alive and safe and desperate to find a way home to them. That they might think she had left of her own volition, choosing to abandon them of her own free will, that idea hurt the most, heart piercing pain that made her vomit until only blood-stained bile came up, her clothes hanging on a frame that was wasting away as stress stole the urge to eat and most of what she did force down ended up in a sick bucket. When she was ‘working’ or surrounded by strangers nothing fazed her, she was all calm and competence; the rest of the time she was volatile, moving from calm to fury to tears, from silent isolation to almost manic high spirits with little provocation and no predictability. There was no replacement for her citalopram and even the milder sedatives were dangerous if used too often. The truth was that Gwen was too unstable to be in the field so she stayed in Haven. As they watched her movements, all three hoped that choosing to play a part in their mission was a sign of acceptance, that their healer was finally starting to heal herself.

Ana walked over to Gwen and put her arms around her, soothing her with gentle murmurs while she stroked her arms. She knew this had all been becoming more real to Gwen, that she could no longer see it as a game or a story, but she also understood that Gwen feared she would ruin everything - and that if she did she would probably never get home.

“We will help, dear heart, of course we will. Whatever you suggest we will put in motion, whatever information you can give us will be much appreciated. But why now? What made you change your mind?”

Gwen looked up at her, tears of anger and frustration streaking her stress-lined cheeks.

“Because all we have is now.” She said quietly, and left to find solitude in her empty cabin.

\------

“All we have is now! We can’t wait and hope for better days, Gwen, we might not have enough of them left.” She had never seen Chris cry, not once in the years they had known each other, but tears were running down his cheeks now and she was just - stunned. There was no other word for it, this was something her brain could not, would not take in. So she sat there, numb and disbelieving, while Amy and Iain put their arms around Chris to comfort him. Finally she spoke.

“What…” her voice cracked and she swallowed a sob. “What are we going to do? What do  _ you _ want to do?” She shunted her feelings aside and slipped her mind into work-mode, back straightening and voice steadying. “What are the options?”

He had endless leaflets - chemotherapy, radiotherapy, targeted therapies, the word Lymphoma emblazoned over all of them. He was 25 years old and she knew he might not see 26. Everything they had planned, wanted, slipping through their fingers.

“I need to think, I want to read through all of those, and I have another appointment at the hospital next week. But I don’t want to talk about that, Gwen, I’ve spent hours talking to doctors and nurses about symptoms and options and treatments and I’m tired. I want to talk about us.”

She shook her head, “Whatever you need, we’re here, we won’t walk away. You just need to focus on you.” The other two agreed but Chris pushed them both away in frustration.

“I’m not an invalid, not yet. I don’t need more nurses. I need my friends, I need whatever we all are, whatever we have, to mean something. Not just in this house, but out there, so no matter what happens people know you three are the ones who deal with it.”

“Chris, man, there’s no way. My mum won’t even speak to me ‘cos she worked out what was going on.” Iain had been close to his mum, telling her everything and only discovering too late that her love wasn’t unconditional after all. “What are we supposed to do? Gwen’s your official next of kin, you two can get married, if you want we can make it a double wedding. But no one’s going to marry all four of us together, it’s not even legal.”

None of them were really clear when it had started. They had been two couples since school, moving into a house together when they went to uni seemed sensible. They hadn’t really noticed when they stopped thinking of themselves separately and just became the four of them. The night Chris’ dad died, Amy and Gwen had been at work, hadn’t even known about it until they came home and found the two men wrapped up in each other, comfort given and accepted without a second thought and the women realised that it was all right and normal and just… them. Outsiders assumed it was about sex, Iain’s mum had been the worst, calling him a pervert, calling the girls whores, telling everyone about her son who was going to hell for being in love with three people, and one a man at that. The truth was when you were working and studying non-stop, sex was the last thing on your mind and even the ‘couples’ had separate bedrooms to accommodate awkward shifts and late night study sessions. 

It hadn’t needed a name and they didn’t need approval but now? They needed each other more than ever.

The night before Chris started treatment they went out for dinner.  _ Apricot  _ was their favourite restaurant, they knew the waiters and the manager by name and everything was always perfect. They stuffed themselves silly and laughed and joked as if nothing had changed, as if nothing was about to change. When the coffee was served each cup had a small box on the saucer beside it. Chris sat back and waited for the others to open their gifts, smiling at the ones he loved and might soon lose.

Each box contained a ring, a twisted band of red, white and yellow gold, each set with the recipient's birthstone. Chris slipped his own emerald set ring on his finger and the rest followed suit. Nothing was said, none of them had anything to say that wouldn’t sound too much or too little, so they waited until they were home to show him their appreciation.

Everything became about the now, they couldn’t change the past and they might not have a future, but for now they were together and that was all that mattered. On the good days they went out, sometimes they went camping or to a fancy hotel, doing things they had always said they would but never had. Amy and Iain walked the West Highland Way to raise money for the charity Bloodwise. On bad days they snuggled in bed and ate anything Chris wanted, even if all he could swallow was broth. When he couldn’t bear to be touched they took turns sitting at the other side of the bed and chatting or reading aloud. Between the three of them he was never left alone. 

Three years later, he was finally pronounced cancer free. They could have a future again. Less than a month later, Gwen woke in a barren cell in another universe. All she had was now, but she was determined she would have a future, and that future would be with her family.


	5. Off Script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It does what it says on the tin, this is heading off canon and I make no apologies.

Once she started, Gwen couldn’t stop getting involved. She tried to keep it to little things, reinforcing certain areas, having some of Leliana’s people in strategic positions, suggesting people Josephine might find useful to have contacts with later. And somehow keeping it small had ended up with her riding through Ferelden beside Varric, Vivienne and The Iron Bull, on her way to the Therinfal Redoubt with the barest outline of a plan and absolutely no idea how it was going to play out. Max had split off from them with Solas, Cassandra, Blackwall and Sera, heading to Redcliffe to meet with the Grand Enchanter, with no clues from Gwen about what they would find there. Personally she agreed that the mages were the best choice, but this was a chance to save even just a few of the templars from the horrors to come and she couldn’t sit back if she could do something. So she had wheedled, manipulated and outright bullied Varric, Max, Leliana, Cullen and Vivienne, but the final piece of the puzzle lay ahead and at the moment only she and Varric knew what shape that piece would take.

For the moment she was enjoying the view. She had ridden horses on holidays as a child but nothing like this and the sense of freedom was amazing. Moving through the countryside, staying in tiny inns in tiny villages, even camping in forest clearings away from the main roads, it was an adventure and an escape. Haven was a constant reminder of everything that was missing from her life, the monotonous days leaving too much time for thinking. Out here she gathered firewood, drew water from streams, helped pitch tents - all things that would have been a nightmare for her in the past but now were curiously freeing. She remembered Amy suggesting they go camping once when they were about eighteen and being shot down immediately by all three of them and their love of comfort and luxury, and that had been with amenities like toilets and hot showers. Now she bathed in freezing streams and the less said about the toilet facilities the better but for the moment she was enjoying it. As long as she kept her mind off what awaited them at the Therinfal Redoubt.

Their way in was via an Orlesian noble, an acquaintance of Vivienne’s, and through the mage’s reputation as a politician and an advocate of the Circle. They were taking a chance on being admitted to the keep without the Herald of Andraste, which was why Gwen was praying her backup plan would be ready and waiting at the meeting place. They didn’t generally get on, having completely different views on the Circle of Magi, but Gwen and Viv had come to a convivial detente based mainly on small-talk and a shared love of fashion and were doing their best to avoid talking about just about anything else in the meantime. For now, Vivienne rode at the head of their group, leading the way and chatting lightly to Varric who rode surprisingly well on a gelding only slightly smaller than Viv’s palfrey, while Bull followed on a massive charger, watching everything around them, playing the part of bodyguard to the hilt. Krem brought up the rear beside Gwen, ambling behind the wagon that carried all the accoutrements Vivienne had decided were essential to a diplomatic mission, chests filled with fine clothes that hid the things the rest of them had decided would be necessary - extra weapons, potions and armour. 

Gwen liked Krem, really liked him. He had a wry sense of humour and subtlety and he understood how it felt to be an outsider coming from a different culture. He was continuing her training with daggers, trying to give her the skills to defend herself if she had to but he had already told Bull that she didn’t have it in her to aim to kill, the best he hoped for was that she could stay alive long enough for someone else to save her. So Bull spoke to Max and Cullen and suddenly Krem was her bodyguard, assigned permanently to protect her if she had to leave Haven. She had apologised repeatedly for the ignominious job and asked for someone less important to be given the job of babysitting her but Max had told her in no uncertain terms that if she left Haven, Krem would be by her side.

"Fuck Cullen, marry Josephine, kill Leliana." Krem raised an eyebrow. "What? Cullen’s hot, Josie's a rich noble who'll inherit everything and Ana knows too much. Plus Josie's boobs are bigger." 

He laughed at that. "Boob girl are you?" 

"Fuck, yes. Let's face it, genitalia of either sort is not attractive no matter how fun to play with and men's nipples tend to be small and pointless. Tits are aesthetically pleasing and far more fun to play with." 

"You should spend some time with the chief, big cock and big tits." They both burst out laughing and Bull turning to give them a questioning look just made them laugh harder. Gwen poked Krem in the side to remind him it was his turn. 

"Fine. Fuck Leliana because those legs go on forever and the Chief isn't the only one who likes a redhead, Marry Cullen - he's a sweet guy - and kill Josephine because someone's gotta go and I don't fancy my chances against the other two. What category next? Mages?"

She smirked, thinking that the mage on her fuck list wasn't even here yet but if all went to plan at Redcliffe he'd be in Haven very soon. Dorian was the closest she'd ever come to a crush on a fictional character and the thought of meeting him in the flesh made her shiver. 

"Nope, we'd have to go outside the Inner Circle to get three and I don't really know any others. Templars? Cullen, Max and Rylen." 

Krem wrinkled his nose in the cutest way when he was thinking but she never got to hear the answer as a shout from up ahead let them know they had reached their camp for the night. 

The camp was already set, two of Ana's scouts waiting patiently while a third prepared stew over the fire. It would have looked like every other camp along the way if it wasn't for the sight of Varric actually hugging a dark-haired man while a nervous looking blond fidgeted in the background as Vivienne glared at him.

"Gwen, did you know about this?" The mage was angry to the point of being shrill. 

"Since it was my idea and I relentlessly bullied Varric until he set it up, then yes, Viv, I knew about it." 

"I won't be any part of working with these criminals! You have no idea what they've done!" If looks could kill, Hawke and Anders would be six feet under. Vivienne blamed them both equally for what she saw as destroying what protections the mages had. As far as Gwen was concerned she wasn't wrong but she was missing a far bigger picture. Vivienne had benefited both from the Circle and from moving outside it in a way few mages ever could and those benefits blinded her to the experiences of others while her deeply culturally ingrained fear of magic excused the imprisonment of vast numbers of innocents on the basis of something a few might choose to do. After pointing out that an entire tower of blood mages and demons had been defeated by four people, one of them a mage, Vivienne had refused to talk to Gwen for several weeks. This was the first time either had mentioned mages or magic since that argument.

"I almost certainly have a better idea than you do, Vivienne. But what they've done is irrelevant now, it's what they're going to do that's important." 

"And what do you think we're going to do, exactly?" Varric had moved on to hug Anders, who looked stunned at the show of affection, while Hawke was eyeing up the two women suspiciously. He was a handsome man with short black hair and a close cropped beard. Leather armour hugged his trim body and two wickedly curved blades were strapped across his back. He was about six foot tall, which Gwen had discovered was about average for a human male (her own five foot three made her shorter than many female elves) while Anders was at least six-four. The mage was thin and wiry, making him look taller, his gaunt face and deep set eyes making his beaky nose even more prominent. He also wore leathers, with a staff across his back that could easily have been nothing more than a quarterstaff. Gwen felt slightly sick looking at the two of them, the last few years of hiding showing in the lines on their faces, the guilt and hopelessness in Anders’ eyes, the grief in Hawke’s as he looked at his love, were almost more than she could bear to see. The first time she had played through their story she had romanced Anders with a female Hawke and had been actually stunned by how it played out, searching online forums for a way to stop Anders blowing up the Chantry. As many times as she had played, trying out different options, these two were her favourite couple in this universe, without exception, regardless of Hawke’s gender. To see them together, to be in their presence and feel their pain, was almost more than she could bear and she had to swallow past a lump in her throat to answer Hawke’s hostile question.

“I think you’re going to listen to what I have to say, even just out of nosiness since Varric got you here. I hope you’re going to help us save innocent lives. And in return I want to help both of you.” She watched him, waiting to see his response before he even opened his mouth. His gaze flicked to Anders who nodded slightly before unstrapping his staff and leaning it against a tree so he could sit. Hawke looked at her through narrowed eyes before sitting down beside Varric, who was watching with the bright eyes of someone who would be writing every bit of this down as soon as he unpacked quill and parchment. Vivienne stalked off towards one of the tents, hissing at Gwen as she passed,

“This should have been discussed before you dragged us here. I will be leaving in the morning, whatever you have planned, you can do it without me.”

Gwen didn’t bother to watch her go. Viv was useful in her way and they may have problems getting in without her, but she was not essential to Gwen’s plan while Hawke and Anders were, both in the short term and the long. She was working well off script here and it might blow up in her face but she had to at least try; so she left the woman to her sulk and turned her attention to the tense group behind her. The Iron Bull was no doubt composing his next report, taking in everything and assessing it, almost certainly seeing far more than she did in this situation, and while Krem appeared to be casually scanning the surroundings she knew him well enough to know the sudden appearance of two of the most wanted men in Thedas had put him on high alert. Because she was looking at them, Bull went to one of the scouts and started asking questions about the terrain ahead while Krem walked over to her and scowled.

“Are you walking us into a shit-show, Gwennie?” he whispered into her ear, not relaxing even for a second when she smiled and laid a hand on his arm.

“Trust me, Krem,” she said, then sat on the ground beside Anders, Krem deliberately placing himself between the two of them and angled himself so he could watch both fugitives at once. Hawke snorted but said nothing and Anders didn’t seem to care so she decided to just press ahead.

“Gentlemen, my name is Gwen Jamieson. My colleagues are on their way to the Therinfal Redoubt to treat with the remainder of the Templar Order in the name of the Herald of Andraste. I’m here to talk to you two.” At mention of the templars, Anders’ eyes tightened and Hawke shifted where he sat. In response, Krem’s hand moved closer to his sword, which made Hawke tense more. Gwen sighed. “Testosterone aside, you’re not going to hurt me and I’m physically unable to hurt you so would you all just calm down and let me finish?”

Varric chuckled. “I really would, boys. She has a story to tell that’s even more unbelievable than yours, Hawke, and she’ll nag everyone repeatedly until you listen to her. Krem, she’s right, they’re not going to hurt her so stand down and let’s all just pretend we’re having a cheery little chat right now?” Gwen smiled her gratitude to him and waited until the three men had settled back down.

“Fabulous. I can see we’re going to be bff’s in no time at all.” She ignored the confused looks. “Now, as I said, I’m here to talk to you. As Varric has pointed out, when I want something, I’m annoying as hell until I get it, but all I want right now is for you to hear me out. You’ve come all this way, don’t you at least want to know why?” Again there was that barely perceptible glance between the two men before Hawke nodded.

“Thanks. Ok… I’m not really sure where to start and this is going to sound really strange but please bear with me.” With that she told them her story, emphasising how different her world was from theirs and asking Krem, Varric and Bull to confirm information about the Inquisition, some of which wasn’t quite on the list of things she had asked permission to share but they didn’t know that. She told them about the farce in Val Royeaux and when she mentioned Max’s mission to recruit the mages in Redcliffe, Hawke interrupted her. 

"My sister is in Redcliffe with the mages, do you know what's going on there?" 

"Yes, I do. Don't worry, Max will deal with it." She deliberately avoided mentioning the Tevinter magisters and thankfully Hawke caught on and dropped the subject. "We're here because the Templars are being forced to take red lyrium." That made every male there sit up and take notice. This was information she had withheld even from the War Council. She forced down the smugness as Vivienne appeared out of her tent looking horrified, not caring that she had obviously been eavesdropping. 

"What do you know about red lyrium?" Anders spoke for the first time, his voice rusty as if rarely used. 

"I know the three of you and Fenris discovered it, that it drove Varric's brother and the Knight Commander of Kirkwall mad and that it's all over what remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, not to mention deposits the Inquisition have found elsewhere. I also know that the Lord Seeker has been possessed by an Envy Demon and the templars have been fed red lyrium until they start to change into monsters. It's even more addictive than the blue stuff and the people behind this have a potentially unlimited supply." She raised a hand against interruptions. "There are a bare handful of templars left who have resisted this move or only recently arrived. I want to try to save them. Vivienne's friend is our way in and Viv, Bull and Varric should be able to do what needs to be done in there but I'd like you to help, Hawke. The demon will warp things around you but you've done this before, when you saved Feynriel. When everything goes weird, you'll meet Cole. Trust him."

"And what will I do while this is going on?" From the look on Hawke's face she guessed Anders wasn't usually interested in interacting with people and she decided to make the most of it. 

"You and I are going to get to know each other better while we stay far away from the scary people with the big pointy sticks." He looked like he might protest so she ploughed on. "If you go in there, they'll kill you on sight. If I go in there, I'll die because I have no martial skills at all, I can barely stick a dagger in a stationary target. Hawke will be pretending to be one of Viv's entourage with Ana's scouts so they won't look too closely at him and he's just an average guy who'll be wearing a helmet. We'll be staying here, having lovely chats while they do all the work and above all staying safe." She braced herself for the argument that was about to blow up. "Just you and me being besties while  _ everyone _ else is off saving people who are living a nightmare they don't even know about yet." She sat back while that sunk in and Krem realised she meant him too. 

"No!" He was livid. "I'm here to protect you, Gwen, not go adventuring. This is hostile territory." 

"This wasn't what the boss had in mind when he sent us here." Bull said, unhappily.

"He's not my boss, Bull," she reminded him 

"But he is mine and I was assigned by the Herald and his advisors to protect you anywhere outside of Haven. Now you want me to leave you with a criminal? A…" 

"A skilled battlemage and one of the strongest healers ever?" She didn't want to argue with Krem, who had stood up and was now pacing in front of her while the rest looked on. He suddenly stopped in front of her, locking eyes with her but she had no intention of backing down. She was taking a huge chance with their lives and she wanted them to go in with as much firepower as possible. Finally, Hawke stepped forward. 

"Can I offer a solution?" He asked hesitantly. He made a strange, warbling whistle and two figures melted out of the shadows, one small and dark, one with shocking white hair and silvery lines over his face, both calm in the face of suddenly drawn weapons. Gwen quickly moved towards them, holding out her hands to show she was not a threat and almost bouncing with excitement. She couldn’t have predicted them bringing Fenris and Merrill, although she had certainly intended to try to persuade Hawke to contact them specifically. 

“Wow! Hi... I mean, hi… I… for fuck’s sake will someone please shut me up?” Of course, by this point everyone in the camp was laughing at her fangirling. When she had woken up in Haven she had been in no position to get enthusiastic and then had small interactions to help her acclimate, but now she was surrounded by people she had only seen as characters on a screen. Merrill was smiling gently at her while Fenris watched with a bemused grimace on his face and she desperately wanted to hear him speak, to see if his voice was really as sexy as she hoped but true to form he wasn’t inclined to chat. She finally came back to herself and realised that Krem had backed down and the team going into the templar stronghold were gathered beside the fire to plan, Vivienne included. 

The camp was crowded and tense and when most of them left in the morning Gwen was as much relieved by the quiet as she was worried for those heading into the dragon’s mouth. She had given them all the information she could, the rest was up to them. Her three babysitters were sitting separately, each doing their own thing, the tension between them obvious. She had gathered that Fenris and Merrill had met on the road, the latter carrying news from Bethany for Hawke, the former seeking to warn his friend about the increased Tevinter presence. The Breach had terrified them both and when they met on the road they travelled together as much for the comfort of familiarity as their common goal but it was easy to see they were not comfortable with each other. She also assumed they weren’t comfortable with Anders, staying as far away from him as the small camp allowed while Anders showed no interest in them, or in anything around him. Without Hawke he simply sat, not making any move to get himself breakfast or interact with anyone around him, for all intents and purposes he might have been completely alone. The atmosphere was intensely uncomfortable and the million questions Gwen had been desperate to ask dried up in the face of the silence and hostility and she pottered about, watching them from the corner of her eye. So she noticed Fenris taking a bowl of porridge covered in honey to Anders while Merrill disappeared and returned with berries and nuts that she split evenly between them all and as the day went on Gwen realised the what she had thought was hostility was a deep seated worry for the numb mage before them. 

The sun was setting when they piled into camp, shocked templars sinking to the ground as soon as they stopped while Hawke and Krem half-carried the Iron Bull over to Anders, his eyes glazed with pain and blood loss and a large wound across his chest matching one in his thigh. There was no time to rest. While Anders healed Bull and then the minor injuries most of the group had sustained, the others were breaking down the camp and making ready to head back to Haven before the Red Templars could begin their pursuit. 

Hawke was cursing loudly as he bustled about and shooting hostile looks at Gwen that made Krem bristle when he noticed it. Gwen settled him with a touch to his arm, it could be discussed at leisure once they were out of danger. Within the hour they were ready to move.

The expected pursuit never came, they assumed the chaos had held the templars up until a chase was pointless, so they decided to continue to Haven. By now Max should be back with the mages, which meant Bethany Hawke would be there too, so everyone moved in the same direction. They made good time, crossing most of Ferelden without incident and starting to see pockets of Inquisition troops as they entered the Hinterlands. One of Leliana’s scouts found them with the news that the Herald of Andraste had defeated a Tevinter Magister at Redcliffe and had brought the remainder of the rebel mages into alliance with the Inquisition. Gwen could finally relax a little, knowing that everything was on track. That feeling lasted until they reached the entrance to the mountain pass leading to Haven.

There had been no pursuit because there was no need. The pass was clogged with troops - tevinter soldiers, templars in various states of change including the massive behemoths, more monstrous and terrifying than anything she could have imagined. There was no way through, no way to reach Haven in time and almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind there was a shockwave that rattled across the mountain and the Breach in the sky suddenly disappeared.

“No!” Gwen screamed, to distraught to notice the hand Krem clamped over her mouth as he dragged her back. “No, no, no, no, no!” Max had promised, he had promised he wouldn't attempt to seal the Breach until they returned and she had believed him. She hadn’t told him the details of the attack on Haven and now it was too late, She had taken some of his strongest companions, leaving him weakened and now a huge force was about to descend on the unsuspecting village. She froze as she realised something even worse. Cole was not moving in front of the Templars, he hadn’t been seen since they left the redoubt. She stopped fighting Krem, moving with him to get to cover, chanting in her mind, as loudly as she could, “Cole, Cole, Cole, please Cole, please…”

Suddenly there was a boy in front of her, the people around them drawing all manner of weapons but Gwen ignored them and threw herself at the spirit who had finally manifested.

“Warn them, see what they need, get to them, please.”

“I will.” And he was gone. All they could do was get as far away as they could, heading back into the heart of the Hinterlands, and hope against hope that Cole made it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine rough average heights as:  
> human male = 6ft, human female = 5ft 8ins  
> elven male = 5ft 9ins, elven female = 5ft 4ins  
> dwarven male = 4ft 11ins, dwarven female = 4ft 6ins


	6. Waiting

Solas watched as the last of the stragglers walked over the bridge and through the gates. Tarasyl'an Te'las was almost unrecognizable, his home buried under the massive, grey castle that squatted on its bones. He ignored the biting winds, his fury warming him as the refugees scuttled like insects over felled rocks and branches, building fires, setting up tents. He could see Cullen, could almost hear him shouting at the soldiers to clear an area for the wounded first of all, although only those with minor wounds had survived the treacherous mountain paths. The rest lay where they fell, to be retrieved when survival was no longer their only focus.

Guinevere had been right and that fact only soured his mood further. Trevelyan was supposed to close the Breach and leave Solas to his search for his Orb, he had urged the man to take the assembled mages from sheer impatience, there had been no word from the mission to the templars and they had not been needed. But Solas had badly underestimated Corypheus, his appearance at Haven with an army and an Archdemon had changed everything. Now, Trevelyan stood beside him, grinning, the strain of the past few days engraved on his face, the burn on his neck covered with another poultice and not healing as it should. Guinevere was right, none of the mages were skilled in healing. According to Fiona, the most gifted had been the first targeted, although none knew if it was an attempt to find Anders or simply that they were easy prey. And few true healers were also skilled in battle, the Circles had not wanted people with well rounded skills. Guinevere had intended to remedy that lack but Solas had no idea how, or if she had succeeded. For now, trudging through snow had reduced the damage and it was clean and would not fester, but the mages who had saved the Herald from frostbite and hypothermia had no strength left over for a mere burn, even one that had damaged the tendon and might compromise his fighting abilities. 

"What a sight," The Herald exclaimed, "This is a miracle, my friend. Thank the Maker you stayed with me rather than going with Gwen." A shadow passed over his handsome face. The spirit boy, Cole, had left her and her companions just to the rear of the corrupted army that descended on Haven and had not been able to find them again. For all anyone knew, they had been buried in the avalanche that decimated those forces. Until the survivors regained their strength and Leliana could train ravens to return to Skyhold, they would not know if any had escaped. 

Solas watched the man force another smile to his face and braced himself for the forceful clap on the arm. "Come, Solas, let's have a look around this fortress you've found us." He muttered his agreement and followed the man across the bridge. While Trevelyan headed straight for the surgeon's tent, and the knot of soldiers just behind, where Cullen was still bellowing orders, Solas pulled away, called by something strange and yet familiar. 

He made his way into the deserted hall, following the sensation that made his skin shiver like the first frost, like a lovers touch, like a brush of lightning, climbing over fallen stones and the rotted remains of a heavy oak door, he found himself in the round tower attached to the main keep. It stretched up, open above him with two galleries visible, the pointed cone of the roof miraculously intact. He stood in the centre of the floor and closed his eyes, reaching out with other senses before opening them again to a different sight. The round wall and high tower were faint, a dream suggestion of a building, while colours and shapes danced and wound around him, soft shivers caressing his skin, winding and curling up and anchored to this very spot. He could distantly see another dream, the focus room that was once here, the mandala mosaic built into the floor to aid his meditation. He could feel his home beneath the shadows of the castle, the sobs of the slaves who realised they were finally free, the gardens he had walked through, his friends at his side. He felt the hope of his meeting with Mythal, her promises of justice, and the sadness and rage of her betrayal and murder at the hands of her own family. Here he had plotted his revenge and here, in this spot, had he woven his greatest triumph and his greatest failure, here the Veil found its source. 

No one argued when Solas claimed the room for his own, or when he began to paint their story upon the bare plaster walls. No one knew the murals were a reminder - of what he had done here, and what he would do to see it put right. 

\-----

“He hates me!” Gwen pounded the berries in the mortar and tried not to imagine each one had Hawke’s grinning face on it.

“He does not hate you.” Glancing up from the simmering cauldron Anders grimaced and took the implements away from his assistant. “I need them lightly crushed for this potion, a paste is no use.”

Gwen looked at the mush in the stone bowl shame-facedly. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

Sighing, Anders cleaned off the mortar and pestle and began crushing more of the small, red balls while Gwen fidgeted, feeling useless but not wanting to leave. She enjoyed Anders’ company, it was true, but more importantly Hawke avoided the stillroom, complaining that the fumes gave him a headache. “He wouldn’t be training you if he hated you, would he?” 

Gwen groaned, another reason for hiding with Anders today. Her bruises had bruises. Although, she had to admit she was getting better at defending herself since Hawke had announced that he would be taking over her training as the only dual-wield expert available. She had protested loud and long over that but both Krem and Bull had agreed that he was the best person for the job and all but bullied her into accepting his offer. Not that it was an offer, more of an order, which made her even less inclined to indulge him, but Anders had promised that she was safe with Hawke and asked her to agree, so she did without another thought. Hiding with the evacuated Inquisition forces in Honnleath while they waited on word of survivors from Haven had given them all plenty of time to get to know each other and she and Anders had become very close. He reminded her of Ian, sweet and kind but strong and with an endless sadness that coloured everything. For her husband the sadness was the cruelty of his family and struggling to deal with Chris’ illness; for Anders it was regret over the war he had started and the struggles he had brought on his fellow mages and on the people he loved.

If Hawke hadn’t resented her enough for persuading him to rescue templars, aided by a demon (he refused to use the word spirit, especially after Cole told him about the White Spire), the fact his sister had almost certainly been in Haven when Corypheus attacked had sealed her fate. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t win him over, even Fenris, as desperate as Hawke for word of Bethany, was almost warm towards her. Hawke simply kicked her arse on the training field and ignored her for the rest of the day.

“I’m pretty sure he’s training me so he can beat me up without anyone else complaining. I certainly hope the rest would at least complain if he outright slit my throat but maybe he’s hoping a training ‘accident’ will take me out.”

Anders looked annoyed and she felt guilty for taking out her frustrations on him. It wasn’t fair to bring him into their problems; she didn’t want to jeopardise their friendship and Anders would choose Hawke’s side without a second thought. Besides, he wasn’t entirely wrong. In training the man was impersonal and professional, correcting her and praising her equally, it was only off the field that he didn’t try to hide his antipathy.

“Sorry,” she muttered, turning away to get a drink for them both and to forage through the basket Merrill had brought them at least an hour ago, with instructions to at least try to remember to eat. She put the food out on a table and sat, waiting to see if Anders would forgive her enough to join her, or if he would stay at the workbench. The laboratory in the mage tower they had appropriated was impressive. The tower itself was the only place large enough for them all and still empty due to its unsavoury reputation, although it was over a decade since the desire demon within had been destroyed, so they had filled it and Anders had instantly made the workspace his own. The mage himself glared at her for another few minutes, before moving the cauldron to the side of the fire so it wouldn’t boil over and coming over to sit beside her. They ate in a silence that grew more uncomfortable as it stretched out. Finally, Anders put down the bread and cheese he’d been nibbling and sighed.

“Garrett doesn’t hate you, Gwen, but you remind him of Isabela and that’s difficult for him.”

“Isabela?” She was surprised. Isabela was beautiful and daring and passionate, if slightly self-centred. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.” Anders shifted slightly. “I know you haven’t been here long, and this was all just a story to you, but how much do you know about Hawke and Isabela?”

“Not much, really. There are variations where they’re a couple, options for them to split up, stay together, she was part of the reason the Qunari assaulted Kirkwall, or rather she was the reason they were there to decide to do it. I liked her, but she was never a big interest to me.”

He snorted. “Isabela appeared in the Hanged Man one night, drunk and pissed off and got in a fight with a bunch of lackeys just as we were heading to see Varric. I hadn’t long met Garrett, hadn’t met Varric at all, the idea was to discuss the Deep Roads Expedition and go over the maps a bit. But the second Garrett saw that pirate bitch, he was gone. They were infatuated with each other, he did everything she wanted and more, and the only thing he ever asked her to do was return that damn book. He would have protected her, killed anyone who tried to hurt her, but she ran and took the book with her. When the Qunari had overrun the city, when anyone who might be of use had been dragged to the Keep and those who weren’t had either hidden or died, she finally showed up. Brought the book and everything. But the Arishok wanted her head and Garrett nearly died to protect her. And Isabela took one look at him, lying in his bed, wasted and feverish, and ran away.

“It took me months to heal him and while I did we… became close. Eventually Isabela returned, begging for help with one breath and blaming him for everything with the other. So he won her a ship and told her to leave. We haven’t seen her since. I think she keeps in contact with Fenris, keeps an eye out for slavers and suchlike, but he doesn’t mention her to Garrett, no one does.”

“How on earth can I remind him of her?” Gwen didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. Isabela, the Pirate Queen. Okay, it sounded like she was a selfish bitch who had broken Hawke’s heart, but to Gwen’s understanding, she never pretended to be anything but what she was. And she was nothing like Isabela.

“It’s not something to explain, it’s your manner, the way you feel to people. You pretend to be shallow and vain, you flirt for attention and to get your own way, but Varric almost bit Garrett’s head off defending you, before we even got near the templars. Fenris likes you,  _ Fenris _ ! Fenris likes three people in the world, Bethany, Garrett and Varric - in that order - he only tolerates the rest of us.” Gwen remembered the look Fenris gave when he first appeared from the shadows, the constant watching whenever she went near one of the mages, and she thought Anders underestimated how Fenris felt about him and Merrill at least. 

The mage sat back in his chair, looking at her sadly. “Garrett believes the only thing you want is to get home, and, like Isabela chasing her ship, you’ll sell us out to anyone who promises to make that happen.”

She thought about that. “The only thing I want  _ is _ to get home. I miss my family so much. I’m all but useless here, there are too many variables for me to try to pretend I know how this will end and what use are  _ my _ nursing skills when you have healing mages and potions and poultices and actual magic. If I don’t find some way to be useful to the Inquisition, why would they waste their time trying to help me? But if Corypheus walked up to me tomorrow and said he could send me home the second I brought him Max’s head on a plate, it wouldn’t even cross my mind to do anything but slap his ugly face and tell him where he could shove it.” She was angry, but she pushed it down, kept it under control. Hawke’s fears were valid, understandable, only she knew her own motives and breaking point and what she would and would not sacrifice to get back to her family. She opened her mouth to say more but Varric’s voice echoed through the tower, he had left for Redcliffe yesterday, hoping to get some news while he sent letters to his own contacts in Orzammar and the Free Marches. No one had expected him back before tomorrow at the earliest.

“Blondie, Sunset, get your butts up here. It’s time to get packing, we’ve got a hidden castle to find!”


	7. Returning

Max stood on the battlements and watched them arrive, almost light-headed at the sight of nearly 50 templars following his friends. 

“They did it.” Cullen breathed it rather than spoke the words. “They saved the Templars.” The two men grinned at each other before racing down to the courtyard like a pair of boys instead of the Inquisitor and his Commander. Some of the Inner Circle already waited at the gates; Josephine, of course, welcomed every visitor of note, and Cassandra wouldn’t miss this for the world; Sera stood nearby with the Chargers, who let out ringing shouts when their Chief and his Lieutenant appeared intact. Strangely, Solas stood slightly further back, watching quietly. Since they had arrived the elven apostate had become almost reclusive, always willing to answer Max’s questions but rarely leaving his rotunda and his studies of the strange, singing shards Max had been finding strewn across the Hinterlands and even up the Storm Coast.

As they reached the gates, Cullen grabbed Max’s arm and pulled him up short. “Maker’s breath,” he gasped as the first group, their friends, moved towards the stables, revealing a group of four riding behind. “She wouldn’t…” Max looked on in confusion as Cassandra also appeared to recognise the newcomers and turned first pale, then bright red before storming off in the direction of the stables shouting Varric’s name. The group were two human males, and two elves, one male, one female. It was the silver markings on the male elf that finally clued Max into who was entering his stronghold at the head of a troop of Templars and he had absolutely no idea how to react. Beside him, Cullen groaned as Cassandra’s voice berating Varric carried over the ever-growing crowds.

“What is all the fuss today? The entire complement of Skyhold appears to be here and the noise is disturbing my studies.”

Max turned to the speaker. Dorian stood in all his usual perfection, immaculately lined eyes flicking around the space and taking everything in while he projected the image of a pouting fop for anyone who might be watching the Tevinter mage in return. Dorian was anything but a fop, but appearing shallow and self-centred was a form of camouflage that Max could appreciate, his sister, Evelyn had been a mistress of such and it had kept her safer in the Circles and after than many who appeared more of a threat. In fact, Dorian with his quick mind and sharp humour reminded Max of his sister very much and they had become close friends too quickly for many of the gossips in Skyhold.

“Our prodigal team return, Dorian. I need to introduce you to Madame de Fer, of course, I think she’ll be more to your tastes than Solas.” Max smirked at the pained expression that drifted over Dorian’s face whenever the other mage was mentioned, to say they had not hit it off was a definite understatement. “You’ll have heard about The Iron Bull, I know Qunari and Tevinter have a history so I’ll leave it up to you if you want to meet him, his Lieutenant is Tevinter though, I don’t know if meeting a fellow countryman would be something you would be interested in?”

“A soporati mercenary, I’m not sure I can think of anyone I would have less in common with, my dear Inquisitor. And Cassandra is being very vocal at your other friend, that would be the author, Varric Tethras, yes? I’ve read some of his prose while waiting for you to get the books I absolutely must have, dreadful stuff, utterly addictive but I felt I should wash my eyeballs after.” Cullen snorted at the thought of Dorian reading  _ Hard in Hightown _ or  _ Swords and Shields _ in his cubby in the library, earning himself a glare. “You will pay for that snickering when I trounce you at chess this afternoon, Commander. Now, will someone please explain why the hobo apostate has dragged himself from his cave and who…” He trailed off as his eyes settled on Fenris, jaw clenching. “That is Fenris.”

Cullen started, suddenly realising that Fenris and a Tevinter mage were under the same roof, so to speak. Luckily, the elf was occupied as another mage had just run down the steps and thrown herself into his arms, so the Commander took the opportunity to push Dorian towards the stairs to his office. “It is, and I don’t think it would be a good idea for him to spot you. I’m staying here because any minute now someone is going to work out who the blond is and it’s all going to kick off. Wait in my office, there’s someone I want to introduce you too.” Dorian frowned but let himself be herded to the stairs, discretion being the better part of valour, particularly when faced with a man who had every reason to try to kill him on sight. When he closed the door behind him, Cullen let out a sigh of relief and focused his attention back on the crowd. Leliana had appeared and the three advisors converged on their visitors, drawing them away to the War Room while Max distracted everyone with an effusive welcome to the rescued Templars and enthusiastic thanks to their Inquisition rescuers who, with the notable exception of Varric, had returned to ensure there were no ‘incidents’. Then he set everyone still remaining to work, finding billets for the templars, summoning the healers to check them all over, and telling any gawkers to be on their way, making himself the centre of everyone’s attention in the hopes no one would remember the other, unnamed, group that had joined them. Finally, he slipped away to join his advisors, desperate to hear the whole story.

\------

Gwen stared at the war table. It wasn’t the same, for some reason it had never occurred to her that this table was not the one from Haven. That table was now buried under half a mountain of snow and ice, of course they hadn’t dragged it from a besieged village and across mountains. But to see it, so different from the one she had stood at in Haven’s chantry, larger and more detailed, not a simple table with basic maps sprawled across it but a huge slab of oak with a single detailed map of southern Thedas, not brass pins stuck in but lead figures sitting in each area, easily moved if needed, it was jarring and magnificent all at once. So she stared at it, ignoring the arguments going on behind her, only noticing when everyone suddenly fell silent.

She looked up. Hawke and Cullen were red-faced from their shouting match, while Anders watched them both blankly, obviously uncomfortable at being the source of Cullen’s ire. Merrill had wandered off and was inspecting the table laid with lunch for the council meeting that had been scheduled, asking Josephine if there was any water or fruit juice because wine and cider disagreed with her, meaning Josie was pouring a glass of water as the tiny elf nibbled on an apple slice. Leliana, surprisingly, had said nothing and Gwen wondered if she had already known who was coming and why. Although the slight tightening of the muscles around Ana’s eyes as she looked at Anders and their very public reception suggested the spymaster had missed Gwen’s plan and was not happy, although whether she was more upset that Gwen had brought the four here, or that she had not known of it in advance, was hard to tell. Fenris wasn’t in the room. Bethany had appropriated him and dragged him off on their way through the hall and no one had objected, especially if there was hope that she would ease him into the idea of Dorian being in Skyhold - a complication Gwen had genuinely forgotten about until she saw the look on Cullen’s face as he pushed a tanned, silver-clad figure away. Gwen had no intention of letting anyone harm a hair on Dorian’s head, especially not before she could even meet the man himself. 

Silence had fallen because Max had entered, no, not Max, the  _ Inquisitor _ had entered. He looked worn and tired, the burden weighing heavily on his shoulders. He also looked more than annoyed and he was looking directly at Gwen. She met his eyes, determined not to back down although she had realised as soon as she saw Cassandra’s face in the courtyard that she had made a big mistake. What had she been thinking, bringing Anders and Fenris here without any warning? If the advisors hadn’t reacted so quickly it could have been a massacre and it would have been her fault. But she wouldn’t act the uncertain child, not in front of these people, she wouldn't give them any excuse to lock her away behind these walls when she had so many ideas of how to ‘fix’ things that had always annoyed her while she worked to find her own way home. If Solas was still determined not to use every method to get her home, she would do it herself. She chased any hint of regret or doubt from her face as she watched the Inquisitor approach.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quick to make her move before he could start scolding her like a child. “I should have let you know who we were bringing, or asked them to wait behind for a little, I didn’t think. Actually,” she giggled slightly and let her eyes widen as she looked around the War Room, “I was so excited to see this place, I didn’t think at all.” Having skated over the apology, while making sure to look him straight in the eye as she made it, she moved on. Ana wouldn’t be fooled, but she could already see the others relaxing so she looked back at Max, carefully sober. “We were so afraid you hadn’t made it out of Haven, Cole didn’t come back and we couldn’t get through the avalanche.” Her voice became deeper and softer and she lowered her eyes, not feigning the hurt and worry he had caused her as she said, “You didn’t wait for us. I thought I had ruined everything because half your people were with me when they should have been there with you, what if you had died and Corypheus won and it would be all my fault. How would I live with myself? How would I get  _ home _ ?” She was crying now, and hated the fact that they were tears of frustration and anger but everyone was now looking at her with pity, the impact of her words lost because she had become just another emotional woman. Max came forward, his arms open as if to embrace her but she pushed him away.

“Don’t,” she hissed, tears still running down her cheeks, temper getting the better of her as weeks of worry bubbled up her throat. “Don’t patronise me, Max. You almost ruined everything, you could have waited, you promised you would wait…”

“Solas said…” He began trying to placate her but that name inflamed her further.

“Solas? Bloody Solas?” She couldn’t find anything else to say, that fucking elf had almost ruined everything because he was so determined to be right. But putting everyone in danger over their argument? He was a dead man walking. She pulled herself up and looked at Max, face impassive, body rigid. “Inquisitor, we have brought you almost fifty templars, led by Ser Barris. I’m aware you don’t have any skilled healer mages and Anders had offered his service, in return for protection for himself and his friends, of course. I believe Hawke, Fenris and Merrill will also be valuable allies. I leave it to you to manage the details, I would suggest you guarantee their safety, you would lose far more than they by not taking advantage of this opportunity. Now, I am very tired, with your permission, I’d like to know where my room is, assuming I have one? Her tone brooked no argument and Josephine stepped forward, eager to break the tension.

“Dear Guinevere, of course we have a suite put aside for you, please let me…” Cullen interrupted, moving beside Gwen and placing his hand on her arm.

“Excuse me, Josephine, I’ll show Gwen where to go.” He looked at Hawke and Anders, “My absence might be more useful than my presence anyway and I need to check on Dorian, I asked him to wait in my office in case anyone decided to rip his heart out first, ask questions later.” This comment was aimed directly at Hawke, who scowled at the Commander, clearly ready to take umbrage until Anders murmured something soothing to him. Max nodded and Cullen and Gwen left the room.

Once the door closed behind them, Max moved and sank into an armchair beside the fire, holding his head in his hands. Everyone waited to see what the Inquisitor’s response would be to yet more complications. He muttered, “Close the Breach, that was all I was supposed to do, just close the Maker-forsaken Breach then I could just go back to being me. How the hell did I end up with all this to deal with?”

Hawke laughed, the atmosphere immediately easing, “You sound just like I used to. I just wanted to keep my family safe and make a bit of money, instead I ended up responsible for a whole city-state that was falling apart. I asked, ‘why me’ about a hundred times a week.”

“And the answer was always the same,” Anders' voice was soft and full of affection as he looked at his husband, “Who else could have done it?” He turned to Max. “Lord Trevelyan, congratulations on your appointment as Inquisitor. I suspect your answer is the same, you do it because who else can? As Gwen says, we would be happy to help the Inquisition in any way we can, but we will need assurances. Don’t judge her harshly, she’s been beside herself for weeks and we have been travelling hard to reach Skyhold. Perhaps we could all adjourn for a meal and some rest and iron out the details tomorrow?”

Max laughed at the mage’s diplomacy. “I’m more annoyed at Varric, Bull and Vivienne for not telling me than I am at Gwen, but she takes everything to heart and thinks she should remember and know everything. We have a couple of things we should sort out now, such as Fenris kindly not killing our Dorian simply because he’s a mage from Tevinter, and I promise you will be as safe as possible but I’ll need time to work out how that’s going to happen.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Fenris,” He had almost forgotten Merrill, the woman had been so quiet through everything. “You don’t usually see him or Bethany for a couple of days when they’ve been apart. Since he thought she was dead, just make sure food is regularly sent to her room and they probably won’t appear this week. It’s so sweet.” Hawke groaned as she giggled.

“Merrill, please remember that all Bethany and Fenris are doing is talking, or reading, or playing cards or anything that doesn’t involve me having to kill my best friend.” Everyone grinned at Hawke’s obvious discomfort with his sister’s sex life. “Fine, if you’re all finished. I promise Fenris won’t murder any magisters and if you show us to a room we’ll sort everything else out when we’ve had a feed and a sleep.” With that they adjourned, Josephine showing their new allies to the guest rooms while Max went to find out if Cassandra had left anything of Varric for him to scold.

\------

"Checkmate." Dorian lounged back in the chair and flashed a smug grin at Cullen. "That is for your sniggering earlier, Commander." Cullen laughed and was about to retort when there was a knock on the office door. Since no one knocked at Cullen’s door except servants bringing food, Dorian jumped up to answer, waving in three women laden down with trays. He looked over at Cullen and cocked an eyebrow. "Are we having a party? I would have dressed for the occasion." The other man blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. 

"I invited Gwen to eat with us once she had rested. I know she's been desperate to meet you and you seemed interested in meeting her."

"And it keeps me out of the way of any Tevinter mage hating elves who might be striding homicidally around the castle?" If anything, Cullen’s blush deepened and Dorian wondered yet again how anyone could be a military genius when every other thought was plastered across his face. Of course, he also wondered how far down the muscled body that blush went but given Cullen's excitement at the return of the mystery woman, sadly he was unlikely to ever find out. 

Cullen was right, he was very interested in meeting this Guinevere Jamieson. An interesting name, Guinevere, ancient elvhen in origin. There was a Tevinter legend, almost a fairy tale, about 'Guinevere' or 'The White Ghost', a human woman who betrayed her paramour, Fen'Harel, tricking him into his enchanted sleep and leading to the final victory over Arlathan. He must ask Solas if he had heard such a legend. This Guinevere had an interesting story too, pulled through the Void from another world, called through the Breach by the hobo himself, no doubt why he bestirred himself to leave his hidey-hole. From all accounts, they had been something like friends, although apparently they fought like cat and dog as well. But Solas had actually approached Dorian to ask for help for this woman, in fact most of the Inner Circle had done so, even the taciturn Blackwall, and he was eager to meet someone who had either got everyone on her side or possibly made them want her as far away as possible. As they pottered about, laying out enough food for six people instead of three (the kitchen staff always overcompensated when Cullen remembered to eat) Dorian wondered how close the Commander and the healer actually were. 

Dorian suspected that Cullen and Cassandra had indulged in a casual relationship before the Inquisition. Since then there had been no time for idle pursuits and something unspoken had distanced them. These days Max was courting the Lady Seeker assiduously and Cullen seemed only interested in his work, to the great disadvantage of his health. Dorian had been bored when he first sat at the chess table in the garden, the Commander's offer of a match had been a surprise given their mutually antagonistic relationship. But Dorian quickly discovered that Cullen was an intelligent, articulate man who obviously desperately needed a break from his work, so Dorian assigned himself to the role of official distraction and made sure Cullen ate well at least once a day. With Sera sneaking him treats, Blackwall and the remaining Chargers turning up to 'challenge' the soldiers when he looked particularly wiped out, Cullen did look better, but his mystery illness reared its head frequently and one day Dorian would weasel the truth out of him so he could be properly helped. 

The food was barely laid out and the glasses filled when there was another knock at the door. This time it was Cullen who answered and Dorian couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy at the smile on the Commander’s face when he saw Gwen standing there. He couldn’t get a good view of her, himself, but they soon moved, Cullen waving her into the room, hand lightly on the small of her back as she smiled and joked about the amount of food on the table. She was tiny! No one had mentioned her being shorter than an elf, although her ears were clearly rounded and she didn’t have the proportions to be a tall dwarf. She was also beautiful. Oh, no doubt here in the South they considered her only pretty, without the sharp elegance favoured by Ferelden and the Free Marches or the round childishness currently fashionable in Orlais and Antiva. Instead she had sultry and slightly tilted eyes of a blue so dark as to be almost charcoal, a straight nose, full lips and a lush figure that would have caught every eye in Minrathous. The rose and gold dress she wore suited her pale complexion and dark honey blonde hair and the combination would have made her a fortune as a courtesan or mistress to any magister she wanted. Looking at her, he couldn’t blame half of Skyhold for being infatuated. 

"... Dorian." He finally realised Cullen was making introductions and flushed slightly. He pulled himself together and took her hand, bowing over it, lips exactly one inch from the smooth skin and then looked up into those charcoal eyes. 

"Delighted to finally meet you, my lady." Her head tilted and she looked at him as if she could see directly into his soul, then she smiled at him the way she had smiled at Cullen. 

"Look at you," she murmured. "You're absolutely perfect. You're amazing." He looked over to Cullen, who was smiling indulgently, and wondered if they had all been mistaken and this fey little thing was actually a spirit given to random mutterings like Cole. But the Commander seemed unperturbed, spreading goats cheese thickly on a slice of bread and laying it on one of the plates. 

"If you're finished making Dorian uncomfortable, Gwen, perhaps we should eat?" He put apple and grapes on the plate beside the bread and pushed it towards her. 

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Lord Pavus?" That smile was captivating, sweet and sensual at the same time, with a slight twist and a sharpness in her eyes that told him she was amused at the thought. He bowed low again and smirked back at her. 

"Not at all, Lady Guinevere. But please do eat, you've had a long journey and a trying reception." He sat back down in his chair, grumbling at Cullen piling food on his plate like a nursemaid. 

Gwen sat down and picked up the glass of water Cullen had laid out for her.

"It's Gwen," she said firmly. "My mother was obsessed with the Arthurian legends and insisted on giving me a ridiculous name. I prefer Gwen." That led on to a discussion of the legends of their various homes, then general chatter until Dorian realised it was almost evening, all the food was gone and that he now understood why everyone had been so sure he would love her. She was clever and sarcastic and funny but more than that she was easy to talk to, as if she saw everything about him and loved it all, even the flaws. As the door closed behind her he turned to Cullen.

“She’s adorable, I very much approve.”

Cullen had been tidying up the crumbs from his desk, shifting papers so he could begin to work again, and he looked up. “I thought you would - wait. Approve what, exactly?"

Dorian was confused. "Why, you and Gwen, of course. I mean, it's entirely possible we'll never be able to send her home but even if we did find a way, perhaps you can persuade her to…" 

"Oh, Maker's breath. She's a married woman, Dorian. And even if she weren't, I'd think she'd be far more inclined to favour you." Dorian grimaced, accepting the South might be, but they still had a very definite default position when it came to sexuality. He wasn’t inclined to correct Cullen, reluctant to possibly jeopardise their growing friendship, but it did remind him of the letter Max had delivered before all the excitement of the day.

“No, I have no interest in Gwen, not that way,” continued Cullen. “But… she’s easy to talk to. She literally knows the best and worst of me, of what I’ve done and what I’ve… well… there’s no judgement or assumptions. It’s just… easy.” He trailed off, struggling to put into words how she helped just by knowing. He took a deep breath and continued slowly, afraid of offending Dorian and pushing him away. “Max told me you and he are taking a trip to Redcliffe.” As Dorian’s shoulders stiffened he rushed on. “I don’t know any of the details but the security of the Inquisitor is my job, after all. All I want to say is, take Gwen with you. Max only told me this is personal and you never talk about personal, so just take her. Whatever it is, she can help.”

Dorian muttered a vague agreement, then made his excuses and left. Taking a woman he had barely met into whatever minefield awaited him in Redcliffe was not on the cards. He decided to head for the Herald’s Rest and wash it all from his mind with whatever swill Cabot had finally managed to acquire.


	8. Do We Have A Deal?

Gwen dragged her nails along hard muscle, feeling the soldier shiver with lust as he thrust inside her, his strong hand tightening almost painfully on her breast as she came, her mind blank of thought, physical sensation her whole world. When she came back to herself he had pulled out, fingering her through the last remnants of her orgasm while working his cock, his eyes half closed as his own climax approached. She shifted and he gasped as she took his cock into her mouth, tasting their combined flavours, sucking the top firmly before sinking all the way down. The feel of her mouth around him, his tip touching the back of her throat, the slight movement and noise as she stopped herself gagging, brought him over the edge and he came in hot pulses that she swallowed down over and over, the working of her mouth and throat drawing more out as he moaned above her.

They washed and dressed in silence and he carried his armour out of the door, turning briefly to smile at her as she leaned against the frame. She smiled back and waved lazily as he crossed the garden and slipped through the garden gate, back to his own billet. She was about to head back to her bed when a dark chuckle came from the shadowy garden.

“Not such an innocent angel after all, are you?” Dorian was sitting on one of the stone benches, slouched against the wall. She knew where he had been, so she knew he was drunk and apparently Dorian was a bitchy drunk.

“I never claimed to be.” she replied, moving to sit beside him, hissing slightly at the cold stone against parts still tender.

“Ah, the sound of someone who has been well fucked. Have you been well fucked, my lady, by your strapping young man? Who was he, I couldn’t see?”

She laughed lightly, “I have no idea. He’s a soldier, he was in the tavern and he caught my eye. And apparently I caught his. And yes, he was most satisfactory.”

“And what of your husband, Cullen tells me you’re married. It was the first reason he came up with for not trying to get into your smalls himself - before the usual noble, self-sacrificing bullshit about not being good enough.” Dorian’s voice was bitter and her face became serious.

“Careful, Dorian, your jealousy is showing.” She ignored the feeble protests and leaned back against the wall herself. They both kept their voices low, sound carried at night and this wasn’t a public conversation. Gwen continued, sadly, “I’m not officially married, only two people per marriage allowed you know. But my loves are in another universe, they probably think I’m dead and there’s no guarantees I’ll ever get home. I haven’t had sex in literally months and I just wanted a bit of fun, no strings attached, just to touch, to feel,” her tone became more mischievous, “And at least a couple of orgasms that didn’t require my own effort.”

A startled laugh escaped Dorian and he turned to look at her. “I hope you received at least a couple, milady.” he said lasciviously so she grinned and cocked her head at him.

“Oh, a lady never tells. But as I said, most satisfactory.” She stretched, but stayed sitting on the bench, allowing the silence to fold over them, the scents of night blooming flowers and healing herbs enveloping them. Eventually, Dorian broke the silence.

“Cullen told me to bring you today, Max too. If they are to be believed, you already know what happened?” His voice was harsh, trying to hide the vulnerability, his words only slightly slurred by the alcohol he had consumed. She considered her answer carefully.

“I know what happened,” she said. “I don’t know how you reacted.” He waved at himself, irritably, and she hummed her agreement, “I know you got drunk, that was always going to happen. But I don’t know if you talked to your father, or if you walked away. I know you feel conflicted about it, anyone would, that doesn’t take any special knowledge, but I don’t know what you’re going to do about it.” He looked at her in surprise and she sighed. “I have no doubt Cullen gave you the impression that I’m some Oracle who knows your past, present and future. I know…” she thought about it. “Let’s call it ‘plot adjacent’ knowledge. You went to a meeting with a family retainer who turned out to be your dickhead father, who tried to seem like he was begging forgiveness without ever actually saying he was sorry or regretting anything beyond you getting out of his clutches.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” Dorian shivered slightly, the cold night air felt even through all the alcohol and Gwen was covered in goosebumps so she stood and turned to him.

“I may have persuaded Josephine to acquire some Aggregio Pavali, just so I could see what all the fuss was about. Would you like to join me?”

He looked at her suspiciously, “I’m afraid you’re not my type, darling.” She couldn’t help laughing at him.

“Oh no, I’m not your type, how will I survive?” She put her hand to her head and pretended to swoon and he laughed despite himself at her dramatics. “And here I was, thinking that I hadn’t had enough random sex for tonight and would try my hand at the drunk, mopey, gay guy.” She straightened up and gave him a genuine smile. “I’m too wired to sleep and in spite of the booze I think you are too. Cullen may be wrong about me being sweet and innocent, but I don’t try to seduce drunk people, no matter how gorgeous they are.” She paused, tilting her head as she looked at him and when she spoke she was completely serious.

“Cullen finds peace in the idea that I know the very worst that has happened to him, the worst he thinks is in him. There’s no explanations required and he doesn’t need to hide his bad days from me. I’m saying this because I know you know how variable his health is, he told me how you all try to help and you think he doesn’t notice but he does. But Hawke also understands that I know things and why I know them, and he hates me for it. He won’t speak to me unless he’s training me and he thinks I don’t know he’s only doing it because Anders likes me. Anders knows and he doesn’t care either way and I don’t think Varric does either but Bull and Vivienne are wary around me, not hostile like Hawke but very wary. Cassandra is like Cullen, Solas is… Solas, and who the hell knows what Josephine or Leliana think, I like them but I wouldn’t trust a word they said. Apart from Fenris and Merrill, you’re the only other person who knows and I have no idea how you’ll feel about it when you’re sober again. But for the moment, I’m offering you a drink, and a chance to talk to someone who doesn’t need anything explained and you can pick your own subject, or we can just drink and not say anything much at all. It’s up to you.”

She held out her hand and he took it, pulling just a token amount as he stood and not letting go as he followed her into her suite.

\-------

Solas watched them with derision and Anders with sympathy when Gwen and Dorian walked into the rotunda the next morning, wincing at the cacophony from the ravens high above and the chattering nobles they had walked past in the Great Hall. Gwen was nibbling a pastry, trying not to look too green around the gills while Dorian grumbled and cursed everything from the birds to the bright morning light to the very existence of morning itself. Gwen decided she could probably listen to Dorian speak Tevene forever while she sat at Solas’ cluttered desk.

“Busy night?” Anders asked, mildly. "Here I thought you were going to bed early." 

"I'm surprised you noticed me leaving, since you were glued to Hawke's face. Oh," Gwen winced at a particularly shrill cackle. "That woman’s voice is horrific. I'd absolutely kill for a glass of bru and a roll and slice right now and I think she'd make a great sacrifice for the god of hangovers." 

Anders laughed and waved his hand, warm magic settling over the suffering pair and healing the aftereffects of some very nice wine and many hours of talking. “What in Andraste’s name is bru and a roll and slice?”

“Food of the Gods,” she replied, leaning over to give him a thankful peck on the cheek. “And unfortunately at least one of them is completely impossible here. So I’ll just have to be grateful for your magic hands.” She smirked suggestively at him and Anders laughed again. Dorian was smiling indulgently at her now he felt better but Solas watched her with narrowed eyes.

“I believe you wanted us here for a reason, Guinevere? Perhaps we can get to it before the whole day disappears? The Inquisitor and I are leaving for the Exalted Plains tomorrow and I still have things to do before we go.” Gwen sobered. If Solas was going to the Dirth, it meant he had received the call for help from his friend. She laid her hand on his arm in apology.

“Sorry, Solas.” She meant it, there was no good outcome here and it hurt to watch the things she knew she couldn’t change. 

He nodded, accepting her comfort without showing that there was any need for it, then looked around. “You did not ask Vivienne to join us?”

“Gwen and Vivienne do  _ not _ get on.” Anders commented smugly, having witnessed many snippy conversations between the pair. “I don’t think there would be much done with them spitting at each other, although a good catfight might be a nice distraction. Do you have something slinky and revealing like Lady Vivienne’s outfits, Gwennie?”

Gwen glowered at him. Heading out to save the Templars she might have managed to find common ground with Vivienne but the weeks in Honnleath had stripped all that away leaving outright animosity. She would resign herself to being trapped in Thedas forever before she asked Madame de Fer for anything.

“Vivienne is useful to Max, but she’s completely useless to me and she’s so mundane, I doubt she could learn anything really new even if all three of you tried to teach her." Dorian miaowed as she leaned back in her chair. "I'm serious - I don't want her knowing anything about this, she can't be trusted. I'd say 'fuck her' but you'd get icy skelfs." Vivienne would understand little and condone even less and while Gwen might be an untouchable nobody, the three mages were vulnerable even with Maxwell's promises of protection. She was a slave of the worst kind, the kind that truly believed their slavery was ordained by their god and one who was more than happy to enslave others as she wrung every opportunity she could from those around her. What little civility they had managed ended completely after Gwen explained with extreme prejudice the similarities between Vivienne and a Judas goat. 

They got down to business, talking about the Fade, Dorian’s time magic, Anders sharing knowledge that only Justice had since Cole was too vague for the answers they needed. Gwen listened and put information together with possibilities gleaned from a mixture of physics and science fiction and between the four of them they put together the outline of a plan. They adjourned for lunch, Dorian and Solas still debating the finer points as they headed for the lower dining room where the Inner Circle tended to eat, giving them peace from the courtiers who infested the Great Hall. Anders and Hawke preferred to eat in their room, sharing some quiet time together before their duties pulled them apart again. Today Gwen had asked if she could join them and they had agreed, Anders happily, Garrett grudgingly, so she followed the mage to the small room they shared in the south tower, already planning what she was going to say.

While he waited for word from his ‘Warden friend’, Hawke had been helping train the soldiers. He had picked up lunch on the way from the training ground and had laid it on the table and when the pair walked in, he was stripped to his waist, washing away dust and sweat. Both stopped to admire the view, water droplets glistening on tanned skin, taut over hard muscle. Hawke might despise Gwen, but the feeling wasn’t mutual and as she and Anders shared a wicked, amused glance. When he noticed them Garrett smiled at his husband, then frowned at their guest. He threw a shirt over his head as Anders poured water for them and offered one to Gwen.

There was a knock at the door and Merrill walked in, followed shortly by Fenris and Bethany. The couple hadn’t quite stayed in Bethany’s room for a week but since Dorian had left for Redcliffe the day after their arrival and only returned yesterday afternoon, it hadn’t been hard to keep the two Tevinters from meeting. Merrill had alternated between helping Anders and studying specimens with Helisma. Gwen had requested their company to set out the other part of her plan, the art she didn’t want anyone else, not even Dorian or Solas, to know just yet. She waited till they had all eaten, not joining in with the quiet chatter, trying to gather her thoughts and frame her arguments. Finally, Hawke leaned back in his chair.

“So, what did you want to talk about, exactly?” She wasn’t sure if his dislike was purely personal, or if it was the fact that everything he had been through, everything Anders had been through, had just been a game to her, a thrilling story to pass the time. Varric’s book wasn’t the same, it told a story of things that had happened, but the idea that it all happened for the amusement of other people, in another universe, was one that Garrett found difficult to swallow, and as the representative of those people and that universe, Gwen was the only person he could vent those feelings at. He gestured at the group around them. “We’re all here, waiting for your words of wisdom.” Anders murmured a word of warning for his rudeness while the rest looked at her expectantly.

She cleared her throat, uncomfortable at the intensity of the looks they were giving her. “There are a few things I wanted to talk about, and an offer, if you’re willing to listen. She mostly addressed herself to Garrett, sure that he was the one she would need to convince although she knew the others were not mindless followers, that they would make their own decisions, even Anders if he thought Hawke was in the wrong. But she wanted him to agree, to see the potential in what she offered.

“We’ve been working on a way to get me home. I’ll tell you what I’ve told the others this morning. The Breach will open one more time, after that it will either be closed forever, or we’ll all be dead. Either way, that’s my only opportunity. The magic Dorian was working on, the time magic,” she ignored Fenris’ mutterings about Tevinter maleficence and Bethany’s soothing voice shushing him, “It only works properly when the Breach is open. It should be enough, but I need a backup plan. Merrill,” she turned to the elven woman who looked surprised to be mentioned, “Max will meet someone at Halamshiral who will join us here, she’s an expert in the eluvians.” Merrill gasped at the implied mention of the magic mirror she had tried to rebuild in Kirkwall. It had been completely destroyed in the carnage following the explosion of the Chantry, but Merrill had learned much about them in her years trying to put it back together.

“I want both of you to work on an alternative to using the Breach. I don’t think the eluvian’s themselves will work, but if we can tap into the power of the Breach when it’s open, I’d like a couple of ways that I can try to get home. No one will be able to help me, you’ll all be concentrating on Corypheus, so it needs to be something I can do myself.”

“So while we fight the ancient magister, you will leave, without any goodbyes?” Fenris looked disapproving. He had also helped train her in Honnleath and they had grown close. 

“I’ll try to say them beforehand, but there won’t be much warning. I won’t stay here if I can get home, I’ll miss you all, but I need to get back to my family.”

“And if you can’t?” Hawke’s tone was harsh, his eyes unforgiving. “If you’re stuck here forever, what will you do? What can you do?” He waved the other’s protests to silence. “If it’s not a game anymore, what will you do, Guinevere? There’s no guarantees, maybe your ‘game’ has a new character in it, a piece of code for people to move around as they please? Maybe that’s already happening and all this is completely futile because you’ll never be able to go home.” 

She couldn’t help the lump in her throat, closing it off, making her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t had a panic attack since the day they left Honnleath, but she could feel it welling up inside her at the thought of being stuck here, of living out her days, not knowing what was happening at home. The tears ran down her face as she imagined never seeing them again, never touching them, never being held with love and affection and years of shared knowledge of each other. Distantly, she heard Bethany and Anders both berating Hawke for his insensitivity, while he reminded them that everything he said had been true. Fenris reached his hand out to her, but she didn’t want to be touched, the only embrace she needed was her family surrounding her, loving her and in their absence she couldn’t tolerate the thought of anyone else near her.

She wrapped her arms around herself and focused on calming down, slowing her breathing, grounding herself with her physical senses. She knew Anders would warn anyone else off from approaching her, he knew how it felt to be overwhelmed by pain more than anyone, except perhaps Fenris. Eventually, she took the water Merrill had been patiently holding for her and sipped it. She looked over at Hawke who sat, shamefaced, and stopped him as he tried to apologise.

“You haven’t said anything I don’t tell myself a thousand times a day.” She was tired, wrung out and had no wish to fight with him. “I know I might be here forever. Once that Breach closes, if I’m still on this side of it, I’ll have to find out what that means for me. But until that happens, I can’t… I can’t even think about it.” She looked him straight in the eye, her voice intense, lips twisted as she offered her deal. “I don’t care that you don’t like me, Garrett. Your feelings about the facts I’ve given are irrelevant to me. There’s no evidence that my own universe isn’t someone else’s imagination, that the things I’ve been through aren’t someone’s idea of entertainment, just because I’m a bit-part while someone else is the protagonist.” She leaned forward, “If this works, you’ll never have to see me again. And if that doesn’t sweeten the deal enough for you, I have something else to put on the table.” She relaxed and looked at Anders. “I think I know how you and Justice can be separate, without you dying. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a possibility. Is that something you would be interested in?”

They were stunned, all of them, every one of them turned to Anders to see what his reaction would be, while the man himself just stared at her. There was a flash of blue deep in his amber eyes and his voice resonated slightly. “How could that be possible?”

“While everyone else is in Halamshiral, we’re going to take a jaunt to the Frostback basin. Their mages join with spirits and then they separate again. I don’t know if it will work for you, but it’s a possibility. You could be you again, Justice could go home. Isn’t that worth the chance?”

He looked at her with tears in his eyes and nodded, speechless at the thought of his corrupted friend finally being free to be himself again, to go home as Gwen wanted to go home. He thought back to the man he had been before they merged. He couldn’t be that man again, but he could be himself, he could be free of the fears that Vengeance could show himself at any minute.

“So, Champion,” she said softly, looking over at Hawke as he stared with hope at his love. “Do we have a deal?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for non-Scottish people
> 
> Bru - Irn Bru, also known as the improved, updated version of the nectar drank on Olympus.  
> Roll and Slice - a bread roll with square sausage (preferably steak sausage)  
> Skelf - a splinter, a fragment of wood trapped under the skin.


	9. The Choices Never Made

Gwen sat curled in her chair, staring at the fire as Solas sorted through the books he had brought, muttering about faded text and worn bindings. Anders was in the Emprise du Lion while Dorian was with Max in the Emerald Graves, the Inquisition determined to find Samson and cut off the red lyrium supply before the ball at Halamshiral. They were running out of time and reports from the Western Approach suggested things were coming to a head there too. 

She had managed to persuade Max to wait for the ball before heading west, it made sense to work their way across the country rather than jumping back and forth and exhausting everyone. So Blackwall, Sera and Bull had taken Cullen’s elite templar-mage troops to Griffon Wing Keep to meet with Hawke and Alistair. 

The fact Hawke's warden friend was Alistair and not Stroud had been a nasty surprise to Gwen. Leliana had been overjoyed to see him, she had thought him far away with Kallian but when the false Calling had started he had left her to her quest and tried to find answers to the song in their heads. Few Wardens had been close enough to an Archdemon to hear their song for real, so, like Anders, they had known it for what it was - a trap. 

So now Hawke and Alistair would both be at Adamant and it was more important than ever to separate Anders and Justice. Skywatcher had arranged for his sister, Vilde, a shaman within their clan, to visit Skyhold before joining the rest on their journey to Tevinter and the woman was expected any day. She could only hope that having Justice in the Fade would tip the balance and save both Hawke and Alistair and only Anders and by extension, Justice, knew what she wanted the spirit to do. 

"This is it," the excitement in Solas' voice barely penetrated her black mood. "Dorian was right, the Imperium has dabbled in merging time and space displacement." He growled slightly, "Almost no real detail, just mention of  _ Puer Templi _ , a temple of silence? But no mention of where." He growled again in frustration. 

"It's in the Western Approach." Gwen spoke absently, still staring into the fire. "Temple ruins, trapped in frozen time."

Solas looked up. "But that's exactly what we need. In a place we already know will be crucial to the Inquisition." He frowned at her lack of response. Every breakthrough, every tiny straw had been a cause for celebration, a step nearer to getting her home. This could be the biggest yet and she couldn't muster so much as a smile. He walked over to her, kneeled in front of the chair and put his warm hand over her cold one. “I am sorry,  _ da’len _ …”

“Don’t,” she said viciously, refusing to even look at him. “Don’t call me a child. I don’t think we’ll get much done tonight. You should go.”

He was overcome with sorrow, watching her. Their arguments were frequent, heated and loud and this icy cold hurt. He wished Dorian or Anders were here, they understood the darkness in Gwen far better than he did. Dorian, like Gwen, used flamboyance and self-aggrandizement to cover it while Anders was able to soothe both their damaged souls, a healer by heart as much as by talent. But they were far away and Solas had no idea how to deal with a Gwen who was withdrawn, who refused to engage with him even to blame him for this latest loss.

“This is no more my world than it is yours, Guinevere.” He tried to explain, even if it triggered her temper, even if she shouted at him and blamed him for everything, anything but this emptiness. He knew this was why Varric had named her ‘Sunset’, not only for her hair as it had been when she first appeared, but for the darkness hidden behind the beauty. “I woke into a world of emptiness and pain, existence split, my people living in degeneracy and ignorance, humans proliferating like rats. I cannot return to my world, it is dead and gone, but I had to try to fix the wrong I did this world.”

“So you’ve said,” she didn’t even turn to look at him, she had no arguments of morality, of waiting until he had the power to do it himself, no arguments against the ends justifying the means. All the things he had said to himself when the Breach first opened, all the things he had told himself every day since. All the deaths on his head. But the arguments had helped them both vent their anger at how things had turned out, had allowed them both complete honesty with each other. All that ended a week ago and he felt adrift. She had been angry, but her anger had not been at him, for him she had nothing left. But perhaps a different kind of company was what she needed now. So he turned and walked away, leaving her still staring into the fire that did not seem to warm her. 

She didn’t hear the first knock at the door, or the second, or the click of the door being opened while her name was gently called. The presence in her room only registered when a gentle hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. She looked up into soft, amber eyes, a stray blond curl fluttering over the left eye proving how late it was as the Commander of the Inquisition looked down at her with a serious expression on his handsome face.

“Cullen?” she whispered, voice hoarse and throat dry. She had no idea how long ago Solas left, it was even longer since she had so much as a sip of water. She could smell food and her stomach turned at the thought of eating everything. Cullen had turned away and was busying himself at her table, laying out tiny pastries on two plates and pouring milk into two goblets.

“Mutton and vegetable,” he said, pointing to one of the plates, then the other, “and apple. I would have been here earlier but Cook was making berry turnovers so it took a little while to get the apple ready.” He brought her a cup over and she took it automatically, then he sat in the chair opposite and sipped. “I know wine is more traditional, but when I have trouble eating I find milk more soothing.” She sipped the milk, enjoying the luxurious, creamy taste. She had always liked goats milk and it was a preference the Commander shared. It did seem to settle her churning stomach and while she had no interest in meat, he persuaded her to nibble on an apple turnover. Eating when she was stressed had never been easy for Gwen, but the milk and the pastry, sweet with honey and warm with cinnamon, filled a hole she had completely forgotten was there. Cullen ate as if it was the first food he had all day, and since most of his ‘caretakers’ were spread across the continent, it probably was. Gwen wondered briefly if she should feel guilty, then dismissed the thought. There were plenty of people in Skyhold to ensure the advisors didn’t work themselves to death, why should she add herself to the list? They would do what they wished regardless of any efforts she could make and it didn’t seem worth it. She couldn’t save them from themselves, that had become more than obvious.

They ate in silence. Cullen was watching her but his attention didn’t feel oppressive. Of all the people still in Skyhold, he was the least likely to tell her to ‘snap out of it’ or that she needed to ‘keep busy’. Nor would he be likely to mention the Chantry sister who had accosted her in the garden and tried to tell her about the ‘Makers will’. The healers had refused to do anything about the red handprint across the woman’s face but the resulting bruise was almost faded now. Instead, he just sat, soothing her with his presence, expecting nothing from her, until she realised tears were running down her cheeks and dripping into the dregs in her cup. Before she knew it, he had lifted the cup from her hands and drawn her onto his lap, letting her curl into his shoulder as she cried, heart-wrenching sobs now choking her while she clung to him and he stroked her back and murmured soothing nonsense. Eventually the sobbing subsided and he looked down to see her finally asleep. He wondered if he should carry her to her bed, let her have the rest she so desperately needed, but when he tried to move she clung more tightly to him and whimpered slightly, so he stayed in the chair, arms around her, and let her rest.

Gwen woke slowly, her neck twinging, her body curled up in a way she knew would give her an aching back all day. As awareness returned she realised she was lying against a warm body and she looked up to see Cullen’s head leaning against hers, eyes closed and breathing evenly in his sleep. As she tried to surreptitiously stretch his eyes opened and he smiled down at her. His arms tightened slightly, then relaxed so she could move herself.

“How do you feel?” He spoke softly and when she looked around it was clear less time had passed than she thought. It was still dark outside and the large candle over the mantle had only burned down by an hour or two. She thought about his question before answering.

“Awful?” Her eyes felt hot and gritty, and her muscles ached from the awkward position but at the same time she felt safe, and for the first time since Max’s raven, she felt hungry. She pushed herself away from Cullen and went to the table, relieved to see there were still pasties and turnovers left and split them between the two, bringing the jug of milk, no longer icy cold, over to refill their glasses. “But a bit better, thanks. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” said Cullen. “Don’t be sorry for your grief, Gwen. All of Skyhold grieves with you.” He ate and drank, allowing her quiet to process her thoughts, giving her time to nibble her way through her own plate and secretly glad to see her eating even a little. She had lost so much weight recently, her lush curves eaten away by her worry, she had felt so light in his arms. Finally, she pushed the plate away and looked at him.

“Ten years.” He blinked and made an inquisitive noise, not quite sure what she meant. “The first Dragon Age came out a bit earlier but for ten years I played those games. Multiple times, different Warden’s, different Hawke’s, different Inquisitors. For all the major choices there’s an achievement, I got most of them. I romanced almost everyone it was possible to romance. I saved the tower mages and I killed them when you asked. I even let Loghain live once, just to get the achievement badge for it. I killed Fenris and I killed Anders, I even managed to get Alistair killed by the Archdemon when I didn’t know that was an option. I destroyed Denerim as a hurlock vanguard and killed Morrigan, Leliana, Alistair and his mabari along with numerous innocents and none of it ever bothered me. Why would it, it was just games, start again and everyone’s alive and ready to go?” She took a deep breath and looked directly at him, her heart in her eyes. “Ten years and there were two choices I never made, two decisions that were too awful to contemplate, even in fiction, even with no consequences at all. I never sided with Meredith and I never let the Chargers die. Not even once, not even just to get that achievement on my profile.”

Cullen had nothing to say. She had taken his side in Kinloch hold, had annulled the Circle, a request he regretted making to this day, one he was glad Kallian had ignored. He couldn’t blame her, how many pieces had he sacrificed in chess, how many soldiers did he sacrifice in reality with every campaign in this blighted war, but the thought of it shocked him. And yet, she had never sided with Meredith, had defended the Kirkwall mages every single time, for ten years. And the Chargers… 

“I warned them to be careful, Hissrad knew the alliance was a dodgy proposition, he knew it.”

“It’s hard to turn away from your entire life,”

“The Chargers were his life, the Inquisition was his life. You turned away from the Chantry, Dorian turned away from Tevinter, you’re both trying to make your lives better. Hissrad was weak, and so was Max.”

“Bull…” She interrupted him,

“He forfeited that name when he murdered his men, when he let Krem die for an alliance that won’t last a second longer than the Qunari have use for the Inquisition, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine. Hissrad.” The name was strange on his tongue, its meaning explained by Leliana when the raven came in from the Storm Coast. “He’s hurting too.”

She snorted, “Not enough. Not as much as he will.”

“Dorian ended it with him.”

“Dorian knows the difference between right and wrong. And Dorian was always too good for him anyway. It should have been you two, he was wasted on that twisted bastard.” Cullen blinked again, Dorian and him? That Dorian was too good for the Iron Bull was not something he could comment on but the thought of him and Dorian together was - well, he didn’t know what it was. He dragged his attention back to Gwen as she smiled at him fondly.

“You complement each other, you have the honesty he needs, you don’t play mind games. And he sees you as you are, not the ex-templar, not the recovering addict, just you.” She gave a short laugh. “Besides, you’re as pretty as each other, one gold, one dark.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and she changed the subject again. 

“Solas is almost positive he can send me home, and I’ve been working on something I hope will help at Adamant, but I’m done. It wasn’t just Hissrad that betrayed Krem, it was Max too. I’ll stay here, work with the healers. I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. But that’s it, I’m done. Until the Breach reopens I’m a healer and nothing more. I should never have been stupid enough to be anything else. I’m going to go home and hope to hell I can forget all of this ever happened.”

That stung, more than anything that happened recently, that hurt. Cullen couldn’t help himself saying, “You would forget us? Forget me, and Dorian and Anders, you would forget Krem?” Her eyes flashed at that and he knew he had scored a hit so he leaned forward, deciding to push her more, to break her out of this apathy. “You told Max to wait, at Haven, you didn’t have to. You made sure the templars were saved as well as the mages, you have saved countless soldiers who would have died on the field without the techniques you taught the medics. You have tried to do the right thing, to protect us, to show us the way, to help in any way you can. I hope you get home, I pray every day to the Maker and to Andraste that you can return to the ones you love. But we love you too, Gwen, and we will never forget you and the lives you have saved. So hide in the healers tents, go home and push us from your mind, play your games as if you had never been here, perhaps you’ll make those choices, just to get those badges you’re missing. After all, it’s all only a game.”

“That’s not fair.” If he had stabbed her she couldn’t have looked more shocked, and more hurt.

“Max and Bull,” he used the name deliberately, ignoring her scowl, “They made the choice they thought they had to make at the time. And no one, including them, thinks it was a good choice, Bull has lost his men, his best friend, his lover because of it. But the choice is made, and it’s real. There’s no reset, no new game here. When you leave we will still be here, still going on and we will still remember you, and miss you, and love you when you’re gone.”

She sighed and moved back over to him, snuggling herself into his lap for the heat and reassurance he offered. She had lied, of course she had, she would never forget any of them. But she could never forgive Bull… Hissrad. She had counted on him to protect his boys and he had sold them out, laying the foundations for another betrayal later on, one she didn’t care to warn Max about since he never listened to her anyway. She should leave him to his Inner Circle, to the people he did trust. She had her goal and he had his and that was the end of it.

“I could never forget you, sweetheart. But every day it seems things just get worse and worse and I’m so tired of it. I miss Krem so much…” she leaned into him, crying again but quietly this time, mourning her friend as Cullen continued to pet her.

“I’m not quite sure who I should be more jealous of,” the familiar voice jolted them from their half doze and they looked up together to see Dorian just inside the door, his entrance unheard in their tiredness and quiet consolation of each other. Cullen jolted slightly, as if he wanted to move and his face flushed slightly but Gwen took one look at the tired, gaunt face and threw herself into his arms, hugging him with all her strength. Dorian didn’t look surprised but he did raise an eyebrow at the Commander when he felt bony hips instead of soft padding and saw pale cheeks instead of rosy. He leant into the embrace, closing his eyes against the pain they shared, pain he had been working out by fighting his way across Orlais, but the thin arms around him brought it flooding back. “Oh my darling, I’m glad to see you too.”

Cullen rose, made hesitant and uncomfortable by the strain on Dorian's face. At Haven he had believed Dorian much younger than himself, a difference of years rather than the mere months between them. But no longer, there were deep lines around the stormy eyes, scars on his pristine skin, the carefully sculpted muscles of training replaced by the lean hardness of a year of constant travel and fighting and scarce rations. The men stared at each other over Gwen’s head and Cullen knew Dorian did not wish his sympathy, not now. 

"I should go." He stammered it out, blushing as Gwen turned to him with a frown, opening her mouth as if to argue. To Cullen's surprise, Dorian stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. 

"Commander," Dorian's expression was serious, guarded. "The Inquisitor has requested Solas join him; there are several elven ruins he wishes to investigate. I offered to return with information regarding Samson, letters collected in the Graves and in the Emprise, for yourself and Sister Nightingale to peruse. Since they are currently in a bag next door, perhaps I could give you them now? Then I can have the lazy, leisurely morning I thoroughly deserve.” The hint of the arrogant noble act made Cullen smile and he nodded easily.

“Very well, my Lord Pavus,” he said with an elaborate bow, “Lead the way.” Dorian disentangled himself from Gwen, promising her hours of company once he had bathed and slept and only if she promised in return to do the same, before leaving with the Commander close behind him. As the door closed behind them, he let out a breath and leaned his forehead against a stone column, before pushing himself upright and looking out over the garden.

“I apologise, Commander,” He was too tired to put on a facade, especially before his friend. “I couldn’t… I…” Cullen laid a hand on his shoulder, understanding what he was trying to say.

“She’s grieving, and so are you. You should grieve together, you will, but not tonight.” Dorian looked at him gratefully. Gwen’s emotions turned too often to anger and his hurt was too raw for that now. He had been angry, now he was heartsore, and there was no energy to bear his own feelings, no room for anyone else’s right now, as selfish and unkind as that was.

“Come,” said Cullen, “Get the letters and get to bed. I’ll have food brought to you tomorrow and no one will disturb you until you’re ready, not even Gwen.” With that Dorian pushed open the door of his suite and grabbed the satchel of messages he had dumped at the entrance, pushing them into Cullen’s hands. As the blond turned to leave, however, he asked,

“Chess, though? Tomorrow? I think dinner time since I’ll probably sleep through lunch?”

Cullen looked at him carefully, heard the desperate plea for some kind of normality and smiled at his friend. “I’ll expect you at the fifth bell. But don’t think I’ll spot you a pawn.”

Dorian laughed, more genuine than before, “Perish the thought, Commander,” then closed the door carefully behind him so Cullen didn’t see the moment his facade cracked and he fell into a chair, head in his hands, wondering when everything had gone so far wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Gwen I have never sided with Meredith and I've never betrayed the Chargers. I just can't. And I was shocked when Alistair died killing the Archdemon in one of my DAO runthroughs because I genuinely didn't know that was an option. But while I certainly haven't played as much as Gwen, those are two achievements I don't even want.


	10. Forgive Me

The Blackmarsh had changed. The heavy peat covered with dark grasses and moss no longer seemed empty and dead, instead the sun shone and insects hovered over heather and gorse in flower. The village had been rebuilt and people moved purposefully, fishermen out on the sea, peat diggers hauling out the heavy blocks, children feeding chickens and pigs and the smells of baking and cooking permeated the air. Kallian Tabris had encouraged her Banns to feed resources into the area and had opened the village to refugees from the Blight. The burnt out manor house at the centre of the village had been pulled down, its stones used to build a house for the mayor and to rebuild the ruins. The perpetual cloudbank was gone, although it was as wet and windy as most of Ferelden and a fine mist was soaking through Anders’ cloak as he walked along the recently cobbled street.

It had been a strangely freeing experience, travelling across the country alone. Garrett was still in the Western Approach and he didn’t want to think about how close they were cutting this and what might happen if he failed. But in the four years since they fled Kirkwall, he had never been truly alone, Garrett hadn’t left him until the day they rode into Skyhold, if he had to go to a village or town by supplies he had returned within an hour or two, buying the bare minimum required or going without if things were taking too long. Anders hadn’t often noticed the absences, he seemed to live in a numb circle of inevitability and self-recrimination. He had tried to save Justice by joining with him, instead he had corrupted him. He had spent years working for the mages, fighting for them, trying to communicate their pain to those in power until his need for Justice - for Vengeance - had driven him to do the worst thing he could ever have imagined. There was no Justice in killing the innocent, none in using their deaths to prove the guilty right in their twisted beliefs, in his right mind he would never have done it, Justice would never have condoned it, there was no way to come to terms with what he had done and only Garrett's constant presence and love had tied him to the world. Only the knowledge of the hurt he would cause his beloved had stopped him ending his own life in the months that followed the explosion, the constant amazement that Garrett had not killed him for his betrayal but had forgiven him. But Garrett was a fighter, a thief, a mercenary, he was someone who used whatever means he found necessary to achieve his goals and in his wake people died. Usually they were bandits or slavers or blood mages or out of control templars, but Anders had no illusions about his husband, he was a killer whose morals extended only as far as it suited him and who would protect his family with his last breath, even if it destroyed his soul to do so. No, they had always thought of Anders as the ‘good’ one, the ‘moral’ one, the healer. Garrett had only ever done what was in his nature, Anders had betrayed his utterly. Four years on, he was still unable to forgive himself for what he had done. 

Sometimes he wondered if Justice was also horrified by their actions, if some of the sickening dread in his dreams spilled over from the spirit who had sunk far beneath the surface of Anders’ mind since that day. He knew he was still there, could feel the sense of ‘other’ sometimes, but the thoughts, the feelings they had shared had been absent, the sense of righteousness all but gone. He wondered if Justice longed to be rid of his corrupted soul, if there was enough of him to truly return to himself when they separated, or if Justice, like Solas’ friend, Wisdom, would be gone forever, too changed by Anders to regain himself and return to the Fade.

He thought back to that first meeting with Gwen, in the woods outside Therinfal Redoubt. When she told her story, Justice had stirred for the first time in those years. As she described how she had been pulled from everything she knew, he had taken an interest, and for Anders it had been like turning on a light in a dim room, he had been able to go about his business, but now he could see clearly. When she had described the templars being fed red lyrium, when they had seen the results massing in the pass above Haven, Justice had not just stirred, he had roared. For the first time since he sat on that crate, waiting for the blow to fall, Anders had felt truly awake, repurposed, and this time he would not warp his mission into something horrific, this time he would bring life, not death. Within him was a sense of joint purpose and a satisfaction that he knew belonged to Justice. Cassandra had been right, the templars had been chained also and their burden had been unknown, unthought of, addiction and fear and brainwashing giving rise to violence and abuse that pushed their victims into desperation and acts that confirmed those fears in the worst ways. And on and on it went, with the Chantry presiding over it all. Now the Chantry was in ruins, the mages were free, and the templars too if they reached out and took the freedom within their grasp, as Cullen had done, as Barris and Rylen and others were doing. For the first time in years, Anders felt that his freedom was finally in sight.

Gwen had intended to come with him, Fenris and Bethany had offered their company, but this was something he needed, no, something he  _ wanted  _ to do himself. He and Justice had started their journey together alone, as strange as that thought sounded even to himself, he wanted them to end it alone. Gwen was dear to him, no matter how recent their friendship, but she didn’t know him. Fenris and Bethany were friends, strange though that thought was when for years Bethany had been the only mage Fenris had believed to be strong, to be truly good, but Fenris was one of his oldest and dearest friends, and yet, he did not want them here for this. He did not want commiserations or congratulations, he didn’t even want Garrett with him. He might have appreciated Vilde’s company, if only to make sure he had the ritual right, but she had pronounced him ready and left to join her clan, his one request for her to wait met with a lecture about coddling. Ready or not, this was his time and he wanted to make the most of it.

He climbed up the steep steps to where they had fought a dragon made of lightning, looking over the marsh and imagining it dark and crowded with demons, tears in the veil that had seemed horrific at the time and now seemed like nothing at all. Here he had been a selfish man, concerned only with his own escape from the templars, with his newfound freedom and the protection of the Warden-Commander making him feel invincible. He remembered arguments with Justice about the nature of spirits and demons, and arguments about his refusal to fight for other mages. Justice had named it apathy, but Anders had known it was fear, fear that this feeling would be taken away, that if he pushed to free those who never sought to free themselves, he would find himself back in the darkness, huddled against the cold and rats, waiting for the slat to open and food to be pushed through, the only light he saw for months on end. Justice had removed that fear, with him he would never be alone again, he had given him the strength to try, even if he had failed at the last. For ten years he had not been alone, even in the dark prison of his own making, in those last years, Justice had been with him. And now that was coming to an end.

He walked back down, past the village and up to a viewpoint he remembered, where he sat and looked over the sea, eating bread and cheese and sipping water from his flask. Vilde had impressed on him the need to remember, to feel for the person he had been, for the person Justice had been. He had assumed the ritual would take place where they had joined, at the crossroads they had soaked with the blood of his brother Grey Wardens in an aftermath he still did not quite remember. But here, in the place where Justice had left the Fade, here where their knowledge of each other began, this was where they would become separate once more. So he sat and remembered.

Images came to him, of people and places he had known before Justice. He remembered getting drunk with Oghren, dancing with Sigrun, tumbling into bed with Nate, and with Sigrun, and with both, for that matter and his lips curved at the memories. He remembered arguing about magic with Velanna and frantically pulling at rubble with a prayer on his lips after the battle at Vigil’s Keep. They had never found her body, never heard from her again. He remembered taking joy in simple things, without a question of whether they were a ‘distraction’. He remembered Wynne training him, Karl snuggling with him under cover of night as they talked about a future they had never had, Irving trying to persuade him to use his boundless energy and passion for something other than escaping time after time. He remembered his mother’s arms, the smell of her soap, his father’s face as the templars took him away, holding desperately onto the pillow that she had made him, begging his father to let him stay. He had turned away from him and the child had felt rejection and abandonment but the man wondered if seeing his only son being taken away had been too much for his father, if he could watch his own child being manhandled and not look away with the pain of it. His parents still lived in that tiny village, he knew, with a sister and brother he had never met. He had never returned, not in any of his escapes, he would not return, not when all he could face would be censure and disgust for his actions, for his life. But he knew they were there, that they thrived, that he was an uncle three times over, and that was enough.

There was no special time for the ritual, no fasting or chanting or complicated sigils and flickering candles. He had a plentiful supply of lyrium but he was no mere apprentice, his power was such that Vilde had believed his own reserves fuel enough for the process. The Avvar needed no fripperies, the ritual sites they used were chosen for peace and continuity, not for show. But in the west the sun was beginning to set and it felt right to do it now, as day faded into night. 

Anders sat in the spot where Kristoff’s corpse had lain, so many years ago. He could still feel the faint shivers where the Veil had torn twice, once to send them into the Fade, once to send them out of it. It felt like a whisper on the back of his neck, making the hairs rise; like a finger gliding softly down his spine, it was faint and disturbing and arousing and distracting all at once. He put it from his mind, years of discipline helping him focus as he delved inside himself, as he sought to find the place where what he was met what he was not, the place where self became other, holding on to the thoughts of what he had been, of what he had become and of what he was becoming. He had been a fugitive, a mage, a prisoner, a Grey Warden, a healer, a son, a friend, a husband, a man, he was his faults and his strengths, his glory and his shame, he was love and guilt and anger and laughter and passion and solitude - he was himself and as he felt for who he was, as he discovered Anders as he had never done, as he found the core of himself, he felt himself separate and the sense of other uncurled and untangled itself from within him. He poured his strength, his mana, his sense of self into that place where they joined, seeking not to sunder, but to gently unfurl the knotted threads that tied them while Justice was first passive, then startled, then alarmed. This was the point Vilde had warned him about, the reality far removed from the idea of separation, the cold of being alone where once there had been warmth. Years between them to be untangled, the fear of being alone in both of them, the surge of adrenaline as their souls fought separation. Anders poured more power in, feeling his limit approaching, feeling the burning strain and fought to be himself enough to drink down the first lyrium potion. They wanted this, they both did, but it was terrifying, it was emptiness, it was loss. He steeled himself and thought now of Justice, of the spirit who stood at the gates with the villagers of Blackmarsh and demanded their freedom, of the man who sought to ease the pain of his hosts wife, who vehemently defended the freedom of great and small, even that of a cat. He thought of the moment they had joined and what they had become, the hours writing, the battles not only for mages, but for slaves, for the downtrodden; he thought of Justice’s power running through him as he healed the poor and the sick and the injured, and the heartsick understanding of his own corruption as rock and flame fell around them. He poured all this and more into Justice, as he poured his own memories back into himself, strengthening the other, pulling them away from each other, pushing their own identities. The burn was intense now, he had almost nothing left, perhaps not even the strength to grasp another potion, holding onto consciousness required everything he had until suddenly, a shift. Like the breaking of a seal, like a rift opening in the centre of his being, there was a sudden surge, a wave of pure power, and then he was empty.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a wavering figure illuminated by the setting sun, enveloped in the faint shimmer of the weakened Veil. Once again clad in armour, face hidden by his helmet, Justice stood, still and silent. For a moment they could only look at each other, then Justice removed his helm. The face that looked back at Anders was his own, it was his own sorrow in those blue eyes, but the voice was Justice.

“Forgive me, my friend. This was never my intent.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my anger, my corruption was to blame.”

“No. I saw only the injustice I wanted to see, I was blind to all else, everything good we did together came from you, every distraction I castigated you for held us to the light, until I pushed us into desperation and destruction. I never thought of the injustice I perpetrated on you. Together we were blinded. Now we are free. Thank you. I know my duty now, I promise I will be in place when you need me.” His final words shimmered in the air as the spirit returned to the Fade and Anders could only repeat them as tears streamed down his cheeks. Justice was himself, he was no demon, Anders had not destroyed his friend as he had feared. He sat and watched the place where Justice returned to the Fade until the sun sank behind the mountains and the chill wind became too much to bear. Then he slowly made his way back down to the village, already planning his journey home to Garrett, praying for his love, and for his friend.


	11. Beyond the Walls

“Solas, Vivienne and Bull.” Max’s tone was firm, bordering on aggressive, as he named those who were to enter Adamant with him.

“Solas and Vivienne, yes, but Blackwall would be better, and Cole in case you need his particular skills.” Cullen barely looked up from the map, moving the markers that indicated each squad to the choke points the scouts had identified. Troop markers were grey iron, Command were blue vitriol and the Inner Circle were the red of bloodstone. The Inquisitor had his own marker, made from veridium and shining green. At the moment it sat in front of the gates, the red to the side while they attempted to allocate positions to their advantage.

“Bull.” Cullen looked up, surprised by the hostility in his friend’s voice. Dorian was the only other member of this council and he wasn’t getting involved in this discussion. This tent was just full of elephants and the mage had no intention of helping them stampede all over their campaign. But he watched as Cullen became ‘The Commander’ and faced down the Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor,” he began formally, but Dorian could see frustration and anger in his stiff posture, in the slight flexing of the hand that sat cocked over the hilt of his sword. “You would be better with our Grey Warden, or with Cassandra for…” He got no further as Maxwell brought his fist down on the table, scattering the nearest markers. 

“No!” The Inquisitor chose his companions when he rode out, that had been understood from the beginning, but there were times when the expertise of his advisors suggested a different combination from his first instinct and he usually followed their guidance. This was Cullen’s field, at Skyhold they had agreed, Cullen was in command, general of their forces. Dorian was his second in command, their work melding mages, templars and soldiers into fighting units giving rise to a unique partnership, a meld of might and magic that had not been seen on Thedas since the days of Arlathan. But that was before the Storm Coast, before Halamshiral. The dynamics had changed, there were cracks in the Inner Circle that had been unthinkable only weeks ago.

“I have told you what team I will take, Commander, and you may add Cole since I agree he could be very useful. But the Iron Bull comes with me. I do not trust him to your soldiers.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed at the insult to his men and retorted before he could think on his words. “And I do not trust him  _ with _ my soldiers. But Bull trained this troop for this assault, Bull and Krem, that is, and since Krem fell,” he very carefully didn’t say  _ died _ although they all heard the word anyway, “there is only Bull who knows those people and their abilities. With an unfamiliar leader mistakes will be made, people will die.” Frustration seeped from him. “We decided all this at Skyhold, Max, why are you pushing this now?”

“The situation has changed…”

“Yes it has, instead of two potential leaders for the third assault group, I now have one; and now you are telling me that one of our key squads is to be leaderless as they assault a stronghold filled with Grey Wardens and demons. I would rather line them up and slit their throats now than send them into that without their captain.” His voice softened as he tried to persuade the Inquisitor. “What happened to ‘our men are not disposable’, Max? Will you make me send them to their deaths with a hole in their ranks and no time to fill it?”

Max was implacable, his tone hard as diamond. “Many will die today, Cullen. What matters is we destroy this demon army and the Wardens in Corypheus’ thrall. The Iron Bull will come with me.”

Dorian could hold his tongue no longer. “When did you stop caring about the people around you, exactly? Was it when you allowed our best mercenaries, your  _ friends _ to die for an alliance that has brought us nothing? Or was it when you started fucking the Iron Bull because Cassandra wanted nothing more to do with you?” He gasped and half collapsed against the table as a smite hit him, knocking the breath from him, followed almost immediately by a cleanse that drained him and left him feeling weak as a kitten. There was a sharp edge to both spells (he refused to accept Cullen’s arguments that those were not a form of magic) that told him Max had started taking lyrium again and his heart twisted with grief. Cullen grabbed Max’s arm, pulling the man round to face him.

“Release him, Max. What are you doing?  _ Why are you doing this? _ ” The last was the broken plea of a friend watching someone he cared for implode before his eyes. Max shuddered, looking at Dorian kneeling on the floor as if shocked at how far this had gone, weight shifting as if he would go to him, shoulders softening. For a moment Cullen thought they were getting through to him.

“Commander.” The scout rushed into the tent only to stop in the face of three intimidating stares. The magister was pulling himself up from the floor while the Commander held the Inquisitor’s arm tightly and suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here. Muttering apologies, he thrust the report at the Commander and ran back out the tent. If those three were at odds, what hope did they have here, about to assault a fortress of Grey Wardens and demons? What if the magister had enthralled the Commander with blood magic after all and they were holding the Inquisitor prisoner to enslave him also and hand them all over to Corypheus? The prospects were horrifying and the scout had to talk to his mates about it, how could he deal with this on his own? One of the soldiers heading for the mess tent told how the Inquisitor had stormed out of the Commander’s tent just after and those eating agreed the magister’s plan must have failed thanks to the scout coming in at just the right time. But there was still the Commander, thrall to a blood mage, were his plans to be trusted? Could his orders be followed safely or would they find themselves crushed by the armies of darkness that awaited them? Some suggested they would be used as blood sacrifices to call more demons into the world, others that they would be thrown into the Abyss, their broken bodies tempting bait to bring darkspawn forth to serve their Master (there was some confusion as to whether the Master was Dorian or Corypheus himself.) A small faction wanted to storm the command tent and slay them both, to destroy the blood mage and give the Commander a final mercy, and they began to move, gathering more as they moved along, explaining to everyone that would listen that they would liberate the Inquisition from the evils within, so that they would triumph over those without. Finally, over a hundred people arrived outside the tent, chanting for the death of the maleficar and his minion, to be faced with an intimidating sight. The Iron Bull stood before them, the Inquisitor at his side. Around them the rest of the Inner Circle appeared, rogues coming out of the shadows, warriors with hands resting on weapons, not drawn but ready, mages with the tips of their staffs lit with mana, all grim-faced as they watched the crowd.

The scout stepped forward, secure in the belief of his righteousness. “My lords, let us deal with the blood mage for you. We’ll purge the monster and his thrall and follow you to victory over all Tevinter’s evil.” Bloodthirsty cheers erupted behind him and the chanting resumed, escalating as the flap raised and the Vint and the Commander emerged. It continued for several minutes before the Inquisitor stepped forward and raised his hands. The shouting dropped as everyone waited for the word to take vengeance on the maleficar.

Max looked at them and his heart sank. This was his fault. Every decision he had made had been a bad one, every consequence worse and worse and now his own soldiers wanted to kill two of his best friends, all because of his own actions. Would they believe him when he told them to stand down? Or would they believe he had been enthralled also? When Bull had come to tell him of the whispers spreading across their army, he had despaired. Whatever happened, the Inquisition had broken, the Inner Circle shattered, their people had lost faith in their leadership, in their cause. As his friends filtered in, one by one, to tell him of the rumours they had heard, the mutiny building in the ranks before their biggest battle, they had to make plans, fast. They made it to the tent before the crowd they could hear coming closer, warning Cullen and Dorian to stay inside while they dealt with this. He should have known neither man would hide, they faced their problems head on, no matter how difficult.

"I am not a blood mage! Do you honestly think this is the best way to spend the night before the biggest battle of your lives?” Dorian was fuming at their ignorance and bigotry, terrified that they would fall before they ever met the true enemy. At his side, Vivienne stepped forward.

“You all know me, you know who I am.” It was not a question, she didn’t even raise her voice, calm and cool as ever. “I am telling you all now, Lord Pavus is no maleficar.” The crowd muttered, as a supporter of the Chantry, the Circle and the Templars, Vivienne was a mage with a powerful reputation among the ordinary soldiers of the Inquisition. Cassandra moved to stand with them.

“I speak as a Seeker of Truth, Lord Pavus is no blood mage, your Commander is no thrall.”

“I should think not.” Dorian wanted to laugh, in spite of the situation, Cullen sounded like a sullen child at the accusation, muttering behind him.

“The Magister attacked the Inquisitor, the Commander was holding him in place, I saw it.”

Max stood forward. “Your Generals did not attack me. I attacked Lord Pavus. I smote him, silenced his magic, for telling me truths I did not want to hear. He did not attack me, did not even attempt to fight back, when he should have.” He turned to Dorian and knelt in the mud before him, silencing the muttering crowd. “I beg your forgiveness, both of you?”

Cullen looked embarrassed, offering his arm to pull Max up, but Dorian’s Tevene spirit got the better of him and he fell to his knees to embrace his friend, pulling them both back up. “There’s nothing to forgive, you idiot.” He whispered in his ear, although they both knew that wasn’t quite true. When they stepped apart, Cullen moved forward, intending to shake Maxwell’s hand only to find himself dragged into another embrace by the emotional pair. He pulled himself away quickly, aware of the soldiers watching them, although a large number had already dispersed, hopefully to spread the news of this reconciliation. He was grateful to both Cass and Vivienne, it was unlikely anyone would have believed their own denials. There was no way this wouldn’t impact on the assault in the morning, there would still be doubts, suspicions and no real time to repair the damage, although he knew Ana’s people had begun moving through the ranks as soon as the rumours were noticed and that the Inner Circle would disperse themselves in the same way. But about twenty people still stood, uncertain, yes, but showing no signs of moving on. He turned to them.

“Back to your billets!” His voice was firm, commanding. He couldn’t prevent the gossip and the mistrust, but he could at least end this scene. “Anyone still here in ten seconds will be on latrine duty for a month.” That got them going, the Commander never made idle threats, no matter what else was going on, and latrine duty for an army of hundreds was a worse punishment than flogging for many. He watched them go without a word, arms crossed over his chest, then turned back. Only Max, Dorian and Cass remained, the two men speaking frantically while Cassandra watched Cullen without expression.

“Cullen,” Max held out his hand, “I’m sorry, I’m such a fool.” Cass snorted, evidently completely in agreement. “I’ve asked Cassandra and Blackwall to be part of my squad, Cole and Vivienne already agreed.” He flushed. “The Maker knows what will happen now, but for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry.” He walked off in the direction of his tent and Cullen turned to Cassandra.

“Will you be fine, working together?” 

She looked at him in disgust. “Are you questioning my professionalism, Commander?”

“Maker, no!” He never would, especially not after being part of such a humiliatingly unprofessional scene. “I’m asking as a friend, Cass. Are you ok?”

She stood for a moment, then stalked into the tent, Cullen and Dorian following behind. She poured three glasses of brandy and knocked hers back, refilling it immediately as the men looked on with concern.

“This should never have happened.” She motioned them both to sit, settling herself on the edge of the table. “There are so many - issues - between us at the moment, how could we imagine it would not spill over?”

“What happened, Cassandra? You both seemed so happy?” Dorian’s voice was soft, sympathetic and her harsh face softened for a moment.

“We were. It was romantic and passionate and wonderful.” Her voice sharpened, “Then I found him having sex with The Iron Bull. I would have forgiven him, even then, for the pain they have been in, until he told me it wasn’t the first time. He wanted to continue seeing us both.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and when they opened again her friends could see the hurt Max had caused. “I do not want to share my love with another. I know Leliana is happy with her lovers and Gwen with hers, but that is not for me. I want to be everything to one who is everything to me. And yet, I might have worked past that, I might have at least tried if they had been honest from the beginning, but he went behind my back, he lied to me.” She made a face and slammed down the glass. “But this is not the time for such nonsense. We have a battle to fight tomorrow and much of the night will be spent trying to repair the damage our hot-headed Inquisitor has caused.” She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and stalked out the door, leaving the men in silence.

Eventually, Dorian cleared his throat. “You know, I’ve tried to replicate that noise of hers, I don’t know how she does it.”

Cullen jumped at the innocuous subject. “It is - distinctive. Why were you trying to copy it?”

“Because it’s incredibly expressive and sexy. Not that I need any help in that department, of course.”

“Of course.” Cullen smirked, then froze. “Did you know? About Bull and Max?” Something about Dorian’s manner told him before the man could gather himself to answer.

“No.” They had never talked about being exclusive but Dorian had thought, well it didn’t matter now anyway. “I assumed they took up together after Cass ended it.” He stared at his brandy for a moment before swallowing it down, wishing the burn in his throat could wipe out the one in his heart. He looked up to see Cullen watching him sympathetically and the thought that Cullen would never deceive anyone that way passed through his mind along with a warmth towards his friend that startled him. He stood, suddenly exhausted by the night’s events and the thought of the battle to come. “I don’t know about you, Commander, but I’ve had enough excitement for one day. I think I’ll retire.”

Cullen glanced at the reports piled on his desk. “I think I’ll just…” He got no further before Dorian put an arm around his shoulders and started pulling him towards the opening.

“Oh no you don’t,” the mage said, tensing his muscles against Cullen’s protesting move back. It was easy for Cullen to forget how physically strong Dorian was and though he could have broken away if he truly wished, the thought of just allowing himself to be directed to his own tent and whatever sleep he could manage was too tempting.

“You’re a bully.” He said laughing.

“Never,” said Dorian smoothly. “But although I will deny it with every breath if you tell a soul, we both need our beauty sleep.” The teasing tone became serious and he dropped his arm as they exited the tent. “Tomorrow will be hard, Cullen. I hesitate to ask but if you need assistance sleeping…?” It wouldn’t be the first time Dorian had used magic to put Cullen into a dreamless sleep when the withdrawals were too bad, but he couldn’t afford it tonight, he needed to be alert quickly if required. But that didn’t stop him appreciating the offer, or missing the friendly arm around his shoulders.

“No, thank you.” They shared a tent near Command, where both could be easily accessible if needed and Cullen was glad for the warming magelights Dorian waved into being when they entered. The desert was cold at night and neither lingered as they stripped to linen breeches and climbed into their bedrolls. There were whispered goodnights, then only silence as both men tried to calm their racing brains into sleep, both praying that todays drama would not damage their ability to win on the morn. It was some time before either slept.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always felt Adamant was the messiest battle in all three games - not sure why. So I decided to make up a reason for it.
> 
> Also, any form of relationship between consenting adults is cool, but see Cassandra as a 'one great love' kind of woman and I believe all relationships have to based on trust and honesty. Max and Bull have totally made a mess of things.
> 
> One word - Cullrian. Swoon!


	12. The Nightmare's Lair

The breaking bridge and collapsing stonework were visible for miles around. They were seen by the soldiers trying desperately to hold the battlements of the bloody fortress, cheering as the dragon fell, not knowing of the others that fell with it. They were seen by the two generals, standing outside the Command tent, who had been directing the battle from above but now abandoned their position and ran into the fray, sword and staff taking down enemy after enemy, the battle all but won but now, possibly, terrifyingly, close to losing the war. They were seen by the lone rider cresting the dunes on the dracolisk he had commandeered and he dug his heels in and pushed the tired beast on, praying hard but knowing that he had come too late, that all was in the hands of his friend, his better self, now. The crashing sounds reverberated across the Western Approach. They echoed through the Silent Ruins, where the most inexperienced mages were being supervised by archivists to remove every trace of useful information for transfer to Skyhold. And they were heard in Griffon Wing Keep where a healer stood on the ramparts, wishing she could see what was happening before going back to checking all the potions and bandages ready to be taken to the wounded when the battle was over. As the dust settled and silence fell the word spread and the entire Inquisition held its breath. 

\------

The Fade hadn't looked like this before. The last time it had been a wavering replica of the Gallows, green-tinged and hazy, only things immediately in front of him appearing solid, everything else fading into the distance. Ha - 'Fade-ing'. He smirked slightly at his own pun, still looking around at the far-too-solid landscape of sharp stalagmites and black sand. The Inquisitor was shaking his head, trying to get his bearings, standing on ground that canted at an angle completely alien to Hawke's mind. Lines that seemed straight curved away into infinity while the other members of their little band were dotted about in the most unlikely places. His eyes went straight to Alistair, whose grim face showed no surprise or confusion at standing in the raw Fade. 

Their first meeting had been in the middle of street to street fighting and Hawke had barely registered the man beyond thanking him for his help. Anders had known him better and told stories of the light-hearted, joking bastard prince who cheered them up even in the Deep Roads. There was so little left of that man now, if they had both been shocked at how hard Leliana had become it was nothing to Anders’ grief at the stone-faced man who had met them in Crestwood. Months of hiding from his own, the Calling singing in his head, separated from his beloved Kallian, both of them assuming that Leliana had died in the explosion at the Conclave, these things had marked Alistair. The only real joy he had seen was the day the man met his son, the only one he would ever sire, thanks to the taint. Then he had embraced his first love and their child, his face soft as he sat for hours, talking to them both about the years behind them, asking the boy about his studies and teaching him to wield a short training sword while Morrigan made sarcastic comments about brainless warriors to a smiling Leliana. The Warden and the Nightingale were private, no sign of their romance visible outside their own room, their daytime contact brief and limited and formal. Honestly, Anders thought that without Kallian’s sweet good nature and boundless energy, Leliana and Alistair fed the darkest parts of each other's spirits, but Garrett had never met the Hero of Ferelden. All he knew was Alistair was not the man he had once known, and it made him sad.

The trip through the Fade was exactly what he would have expected, demons all over the place and most of them looked like spiders, just to twist the fucking knife. Each memory the Inquisitor recovered got them one step closer to escape, following the footsteps of the ‘might be a spirit, might be a person, not telling you, na na na’ Divine. Of course, Maxwell being Maxwell couldn’t leave well enough alone, he had to go hunting for tokens to soothe lost souls and poking around so many eluvians Merrill would have exploded with enthusiasm and be trying to work out a way to take them home. Except of course they broke as soon as the Inquisitor interacted with them. They had come so far and the rift still seemed as distant as when they had landed, the constant niggling of the Nightmare in their ears showing on all of them as tempers frayed. Maxwell’s team managed better, drawing together instead of apart, Lady Vivienne even consoling the spirit-boy, Cole, as he became more distressed. He could imagine how it would have been if his friends were here; Varric’s acerbic jokes, Fenris complaining about mages and demons and trying to hide his flirting with Bethany, Anders arguing with everyone while Merrill floated around in her own cloud of daydreaming, appearing unaware of anything but really missing nothing, giving her astute judgement exactly when it was needed. Instead he found himself walking with Alistair, trying to talk to him and getting nothing, becoming more and more frustrated until they began bickering about blame and Maxwell had to tell them both to shut up.

The Fade had no end of creepy spider demons to throw at them, it was almost a relief to reach a beach (a beach? What the fuck was that about? And was that water, or ichor, or sludge, and what was on the other side?) that seemed populated by shades and rage demons, two pride demons inhabiting the ridge above. His arms were getting tired, shoulders aching, the twinge in his knee that reminded him of his age on cold mornings now became a constant distracting ache. He was covered in ichor, irritating and itching his skin, the many scratches and burns and cuts of their fighting healed superficially by Vivienne but she was running low on mana, saving her lyrium potions for their fight against the Nightmare and now she could only heal the worst wounds. They made it across the beach and the whole group collapsed against a wall, breathing heavily, exhausted, thirsty and coming to the end of their energy. Another mage would have been helpful, he thought, but Solas had been left with Cassandra at the rift they were heading for, dealing with the Wardens there while the rest had pursued Clarel and Erimond. Even an archer to help pick off enemies at a distance, they were badly balanced, one mage, two dual wield fighters and three warriors who fought with sword and shield when the sheer power of Fenris or The Iron Bull would have been a huge help with those Pride demons. He felt, rather than heard, the movement beside him and opened his eyes to the unnerving watery blue gaze of the spirit.

“He’s sorry, he wanted to tell you but he didn’t have the chance. He didn’t want you to be hurt if it didn’t work.” And wasn’t that just as helpful as most of the things the boy said. Now he was definitely worried.

“ _ Andraste’s tits! _ ” The curse was almost whispered. Maxwell was on his feet, disappearing through a gap in the wall Garrett hadn’t even noticed, the rest of them following him, each one looking more and more perturbed. He leaned his head back against the wall, trying to decide if he really wanted to know, until he heard something that made his stomach twist.

“ **Where is Hawke?”**

He still heard that voice in his nightmares, when Anders’ eyes would turn blue and he would turn away from Garrett. When he would kill their friends, their family, demanding justice over and over again as Garrett begged him to stop. It always ended the same, with Garrett’s knife in Anders’ back as he sat on that damned crate, waiting for the end. It ended with Anders’ blood running down Garrett’s hands as the blue faded from his eyes, a whispered ‘thank you’ on beloved lips as they went slack and he woke and clung to his husband, silent tears running down his face. He heard Alistair talking, demanding answers, and it reminded him that Alistair had known Justice before he joined with Anders, when he had been trapped in the corpse of a Grey Warden. But the only response he seemed to be getting were those three words that sent dread through Garrett with every repetition.

**“Where is Hawke?”**

Cole’s words went through his head,  _ “he’s sorry” _ and the offer that  _ bitch _ had made before he left. But they were supposed to go together, to be together if it went wrong, if it didn’t work, he wasn’t supposed to be left  _ alone _ !

He dragged himself up and turned. The wall was barely waist height and he took in details he had missed in their frantic dash earlier. It was a graveyard, every one of the Inquisitor’s closest friends named on a headstone with cryptic words beneath. He saw Blackwall turn pale looking at his own name and the epitaph  _ Himself _ while Vivienne’s full lips were pressed together into a thin line at whatever her own stone said. He didn’t want to look further, to see if his name was on one of those graves, so he pushed himself to look at the figure standing between the stones.

He was hazy, wearing full armour with the visor down. Anders had told him that when they first met in the Fade Justice had been wearing what looked like templar armour, the result of the villagers wish for protection against the dark magic that had trapped them there. This armour was very different, heavy plate yes, but black with no skirt and what looked like a red demon face where the sunburst would be. For a moment they simply stood, then Justice raised his visor and Garrett saw Anders looking back at him. 

It was too much, seeing that beloved face set in hard lines, those eyes cold and blue instead of warm brown, Garrett felt his legs give out and his knees hit the ground, blood rushing in his ears, breath trapped in his chest until he felt he would pass out while his mouth shaped the word ‘no’ over and over again. Alistair knelt beside him, holding him up, their argument forgotten in this moment as Maxwell demanded answers from the spirit. Justice ignored the Inquisitor, waiting only for Garrett to acknowledge him.

“Is he dead?” Even saying the words was like a knife twisting in his guts.

**“No.”** He sagged, half collapsing against Alistair in relief.  **“He is well. He is himself.”** Justice walked towards Garrett, whose adrenaline had run out, leaving him no power to stand again.  **“I wronged you, Hawke. I saw you as a distraction from our mission. In truth, you helped Anders hold on to himself. We were twisting, changing into a true abomination. I came close to losing my purpose, to becoming as warped and evil as those you have destroyed here. Our last act was truly one of Vengeance, not Justice. Your mercy and your love for Anders saved us and allowed us to become ourselves again. I am here to pay my debt to you.”** Garrett could only stare, could only process one thing, that Anders was alive, that he was safe.

From there the fighting was easier. Justice was a better swordsman even than Alistair and his magic was far stronger than Vivienne’s, drawing directly from the Fade as it did. He had learned healing from Anders and everyone felt as fresh as if they had woken from restful sleep instead of fought their way through a fortress and then the Fade. But finally they stood before the Nightmare, the rift they sought just behind it. The spirit of the Divine threw herself at it, the concussion slowing it, giving them time to destroy its aspect and run for the rift. Finally, only Maxwell, Garrett and Alistair were left, just in time for the Nightmare to wake. Before any of them could say a word, Justice stood in front of the demon, sword and magic both flashing. The men ran for the rift and Garrett stopped, watching the spirit with the semblance of his love as he struck blow after blow. For a moment, Justice turned and raised his sword in salute, then he was turning back to the fight and Garrett was being pulled through the rift just before it closed.

\------

They stood in the Command tent, bruised and battle-worn, the worst injuries healed by the mage who had arrived only minutes after the Wardens surrendered, who now sat beside his husband, his arms around him as if he would never let go. Most of the Inner Circle were out celebrating with the soldiers but Maxwell, Cullen, Dorian and Alistair sat on stools, quietly updating each other on the events of the last few hours. The peace lasted half an hour or so before a red-headed whirlwind flew into the tent to claim Alistair, curses and kisses given in equal amounts as she dragged him away while the man looked back at them, completely bewildered.

Max chuckled, “I never thought I’d see the Nightingale in a tizzy.” He looked around at his friends, glad everyone had returned safely. The trip through the Fade had been eye-opening, had made him realise what - who - he truly wanted in his life. He had explanations to give and forgiveness to seek, but for now he just wanted to sleep. So he made his good nights and left, closely followed by Anders and Hawke, leaving the two Generals alone.

Dorian stood, heading for the brandy and pouring them each a generous amount before handing a glass to Cullen.

“I’ve decided to resign my commission, Commander.” he said, flippantly. “All these tactics and standing back observing are far too dull for a man of my talents.” In truth it had been horrific, watching men charge into battle, standing back and directing them to their deaths, feeling the responsibility of it. He had no idea how Cullen dealt with the guilt. These were not chess pieces, to be reset when the game finished, and he knew every one of those dead soldiers had family or friends and that every one of those would receive a letter by Cullen’s own hand. The lists of the dead were already coming in from the lieutenants.

“You did well, Dorian.” Cullen watched him carefully. He understood what was going through the man’s mind, he always seemed to know every thought Dorian had - although he did hope there were at least a few thoughts that remained private.

“How do you do it,  _ amatus _ ?” In his tiredness and grief he never even noticed the endearment slipping out until it was too late and Cullen had frozen. He cursed himself, hoping that the man didn’t know what the word meant, but Cullen had known Fenris for years and had picked up a smattering of Tevene along the way. It was his word for Bethany, in the feminine  _ amata _ , and Cullen knew perfectly well what it meant.

“Dorian?” He spoke softly, as one would to a spooked animal and that’s exactly what Dorian felt like. The mage drained his brandy and poured another, debating whether he could bluff his way out of this. But all the death and pain and guilt had stripped him of his defenses and instead he looked at his closest friend, his best friend since Felix’s death, with fear in his eyes.

“So now you know,” his voice held a shadow of it’s usual arrogance, his protective shell cracked and broken. “I apologise, Commander, it’s been a trying day. I should retire and not disturb you any further.” He put down the glass and turned to go, shoulders slumped in humiliation at voicing the one thing he had never wished to share.

“Dorian.” This time it wasn’t a question and he had a strange lilt to his voice, a slight smile on his face as Dorian turned. Then, suddenly, Cullen’s arms were around him, his mouth seeking his and it was like a dream, Cullen was kissing him and there was nothing else in the world but Cullen’s arms and Cullen’s mouth. It was like a dam breaking inside him, all the love and affection and months of feeling so close and yet so far all coming to a head in the arms of the man he had fallen completely and desperately in love with, the man he had thought would never love him in return and here they were and suddenly all was right with the world.


	13. Building Bridges

Gwen moved quietly between the cots, checking each patient, offering water or potions as required. She wasn’t the only one, there were about 15 healers running three shifts in Griffon Wing Keep. Most of the army had already left and she had suggested reinforcing the garrisons closest to the Arbor Wilds on the return to Skyhold. She hadn’t said anything more, but Cullen knew staging areas when he saw them, all focused on the vast forests in southern Orlais and she knew he would take the appropriate action. Meanwhile, she stayed in the Western Approach. Anders and the strongest healing mages were still in Adamant Fortress with the worst of the wounded, the rest of the mages were on their way east and Gwen and the others had those not yet well enough to go far, but not in need of life-sustaining magic.

“Mistress Jamieson?” She turned to see one of the apprentice’s beckoning her. Emile was a good man, steady in a crisis and quick at picking up skills. He had been rescued from the quarry in Sahrnia and joined the Inquisition to avenge the brother who had died there but quickly proved himself no warrior. He had deft hands and a gentle touch that made him invaluable for dressing changes when Gwen had nothing more than alcohol to use as anaesthetic. He looked concerned so she picked up the pace and he led her into one of the single rooms set into the keeps walls, the one room she had hoped not to have to go near, deliberately working her way round the other side knowing one of her colleagues would get there first. Unfortunately she was the most experienced healer on shift since Martin was off collecting herbs to replenish their stocks of potions.

“The wound isn’t healing as it should, Mistress. I’d like you to have a look at it, please?” She smiled at Emile and nodded, moving past him to smile again, this time at the patient lying in one of the few large beds they could find.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?” She kept her tone light, not wanting to worry him, but the man in front of her looked dreadful. His skin was clammy, his eyes bloodshot and she could smell as soon as she walked in that the wound was infected.

“Like someone staked me out in the desert with my guts hanging out.” He groaned. He looked up at her and blinked, as if just recognising who she was, quite likely because of the gauze veil she had wrapped around her head and face. Scottish skin and desert sun were not a good combination and she had no wish to pass out with heat exhaustion in the middle of a shift. His face changed, his eye shifted away from her, his jaw tight. “You don’t have to come in here. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” she asked, pausing for a moment to let him answer. 

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to be here. I’m sure this guy can manage fine. You don’t have to put up with me.” He looked almost small, huddled in on himself, a hopeless look on his broad face that would have touched harder hearts than hers. She ignored his words for the moment and turned to Emile.

“Can you get me one of the sealed surgical packs, a jar of honey, three jars of boiled water and three jars of saline please. And at least a couple of yards of boiled gauze, thank you, Emile.” He looked as if he wanted to say something but instead he just nodded and left the room. When the door closed she drew a stool beside the bed and sat face to face with her patient.

“Bull,” she said hesitantly, “I can give Emile the instructions for what I think we need to do, but he’s only an apprentice. It would be safer for you and better for him if you would let me do it. But if it’s a problem, I’ll leave.”

“I know you hate me.” He muttered it, as if he didn’t really want her to hear.

“I’m a nurse. You’re my patient. I don’t hate you, I want to help you. Your wound is infected, it’s probably going to need drained and healed a different way. I can ask Anders to come from Adamant, he could probably fix it with magic.” She hesitated again. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I can smell the infection. One way or another, this needs done.”

He looked straight at her. “You could leave me to it, another festering wound, no one would even raise an eyebrow. It’d be a fitting punishment, don’t you think?”

Her temper flared at the suggestion and she wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his idea, but she pushed it down under the professionalism that allowed her to treat anyone who came through the door, from the drunk driver needing his head stitched after killing a mother and baby in the car he ploughed into, or the paedophile brought in after being beaten almost to death in prison. She did her job, no matter what, and she was seriously pissed that he thought she would shirk it because of him.

“No one deserves to die that way, Bull.” She said it gently, compassion in her voice at the pain in his. He was suffering for his mistake, he deserved to suffer for it, but she would not make it worse, not while he was in her care. “I can do it myself, or I can tell Emile what to do, but you’ll leave here on a horse, not in a box, if I have a single thing to say about it.” It didn’t seem to reassure him, instead he leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes in defeat.

That settled, she scrubbed her hands while she waited for Emile to return, lathering them to the elbows with the lemon and embrium soap that sat in the small locker at every bedside. Then she took out a clean apron from the drawer and washed her hands again once it was on. By that time Emile had arrived, his arms full and one of the others, Marta, carrying two large jars in behind him.

“Thank you, Marta,” she said with a smile, then turned back to Bull. “Seeing this would be good for Marta too, would you be happy for her to stay?” He waved and she waited until he muttered a yes, then she started on her work, talking to the two apprentices as she laid everything out.

“Now, this gentleman has a long wound just above his left hip, shallow at the top then deeper until it reaches about three inches depth just above the iliac crest. It was inflicted by the talons of a terror demon and therefore there is a high risk of infection so it had healing and regenerative potions poured into it before being sewn closed. Emile, how can you tell that an infection is present in spite of our precautions?”

He looked at The Iron Bull. “Clammy skin, increased pain, oozing through the bandages?”

She nodded, “Marta, anything else?”

Marta looked startled, then embarrassed. “Sorry Mistress Gwen, I mean… well… there’s the…” She trailed off and Gwen raised an eyebrow before turning back to Bull.

“He is indeed clammy and although obviously his skin is grey anyway, it is not usually that shade. So cold, clammy, pallor, increased pain, increased exudate, is anyone going to mention the smell?” Both apprentices looked at their shoes, their cheeks flushed, so she continued. “That overly sweet smell would change very quickly to the smell of rot if you ignore it just now. We really don’t want it to get that far, so we’re going to assess the wound and see what we can do. Bull, can I expose your hip now please?” He shifted to move the blanket. She knew he wouldn’t be embarrassed, either about his body or about her clinical comments, they had been relatively close, once.

“Now you can see the bandages are stuck down with haemoserous fluid that has become thicker and stickier. We’re going to soak them off with the boiled water so if you two see to that, I’ll check the pack.” She handed him a regenerative potion. Even with their gentle hands and the water to soak the bandages, this would be painful, and what she had to do next would be even more so.

“Now clean your hands again, another two minute scrub, please, and then be ready to hand me things as I ask for them, I’ve laid everything out in the order I’ll probably want it.”

It was worrying to realise that Emile had brought only two jars of saline, it meant there were no more and she thought she might have to use it all. They had iodine and various poultices of course, but it was the saline she really wanted for what she had in mind. She scrubbed again, wishing for about the millionth time that surgical gloves were an actual thing here, and looked down at the wound. It was puffy and raised along the edges, pus leaking from between the bottom few stitches which could barely been seen against the swelling. Emile handed her scissors and forceps, and held a syringe filled with the precious saline while Marta put boiled towels where the saline would most likely drip. Carefully, Gwen released the stitches, one at time, pulling the gut through carefully to ensure none was left behind, while Emile irrigated the wound, washing slough and debris away without disturbing the wound bed, as he’d been taught. Once every section of the running stitch had been removed, he continued irrigating while Gwen washed her hands again. She set Marta to soaking the lengths of boiled gauze in steeped elfroot water and smearing honey on them to be packed gently into the wound, talking to Bull all the time, telling him what she was doing as much as telling her assistants, stopping when he groaned to offer water or another potion. Finally she asked Emile to do the bandaging while she made a note of the plan. When the two apprentices had no questions for her, she dismissed them to have something to eat and drink and sat back down on the stool by the bed. Eventually Bull opened his eye and looked at her.

“Thanks.” he said.

“We’ll change it daily for now, unless it leaks. If you feel worse, you need to tell us, you don’t get a chocolate watch for being macho in here.”

He smiled slightly. “Sunset, half the time I have no idea what you’re even talking about. But thanks. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I did. It’s my job.”

The smile disappeared. “We used to be friends.”

“Don’t, Bull. This isn’t the time or the place. Just let me do my…”

“Job.” He finished for her. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I know I don’t deserve.... No, sorry, don’t mention it, fair enough.” He settled down and she rose, untying the apron to put it in the wicker basket outside the door. She looked back at him and told him to ring the small brass bell if he needed anything, then left the room.

\------

From the battlements there was nothing to see but sand. Sand was fine, she thought, if there’s water to go with it, preferably warm water and a close proximity to bars. Not this constantly hissing, windy emptiness, punctuated by massive statues in the distance and the occasional cry of a phoenix in the flats. Sunbeds and parasols and ice-cream, she thought, and margaritas. The last time they all managed to get a holiday together she and Amy had spent a week lazing beside the pool, drinking cocktails and soaking up the sunshine while the men went on ‘walks’ (to the pub) and sightseeing trips (to further away pubs). Twice they walked down to the golden beach and swam in the sea, far enough out to let the waves gently bob around her, then lay on the sand while Chris rubbed sunscreen into her skin and Ian did the same for Amy. The evenings had been pubs and clubs, karaoke bars and staggering home at three in the morning to fall into bed in some combination of two or three (Chris fell asleep on the couch) or four. That had been their last holiday together.

Instead here she was, looking out over a desert, several realities over from where she belonged, with tears falling down her cheeks as she tried to hold back the heart-wrenching sobs trying to tear their way through her chest. She had a deal, with Anders, with Leliana, that she could come here only if she could cope, if she could hold it together and be professional. Sedatives were for the wounded, panic attacks were a risk to their safety, she would have nowhere to go, she couldn’t stalk off into the desert, there were no convenient huts or out of the way corridors here, no abandoned towers to stand on top of and let the cold wind chill the emotion from her. She hadn’t considered it a problem. But then, she hadn’t considered that any of the Inner Circle would refuse magical healing and have to be left in her care while everyone else went on to Skyhold. Even then, if it had been anyone else it wouldn’t have been a problem but the part of her that wanted Bull to be well again, wanted his wound to heal neatly and become just another of the endless scars scattered across him - that part was fighting with the bit of her that was still grieving for Krem, the bit that wanted to leave him alone in that room, to know what it felt like to be abandoned. She hated herself for being so petty but part of her thought he deserved all this pain and more. And then there was that other voice in her head, the one that wanted to sit with him, to hold his hand, to ask him for stories about Krem and the other Chargers, to play cards with him and joke about how bad her poker face was, the voice that told her this was her friend and he was hurting. She had only known Krem a little while, had barely known the rest at all, they had been Bull’s life. But she despised that voice most of all, the voice that wanted to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, that told her she was too rigid, too unforgiving, too black and white, deliberately ignoring the shades of grey. She hated that voice and it hated her, burning into her how selfish she was, how hard she made life for everyone around her, how useless everything she did and said and thought was because really, she was just a manipulative, heartless bitch of a person, barely even a person at all. And she hated that voice because deep down, she believed it was right.

“I’d have let the bastard rot.”

She jumped, quickly turning to look up at the wall above. This ledge wasn’t entirely part of the battlements proper, it was just a random ledge that had held one of the shards, accessible by a ladder from below - or, if you were a smartarse rogue, by jumping from the wall above. Hawke landed lightly on his feet, bouncing slightly before looking around himself.

“Not much of a view. At least at the other side you can see all the wildlife that wants to eat you, plus there’s random darkspawn and the odd poisonous spider. This is a bit boring, if I’m honest.” He sat on the edge of the ledge and pulled out a dagger, flipping it a few times in his hand before putting it back wherever it came from. Gwen stood behind him, watching him. Garrett Hawke didn’t speak to her voluntarily, he barely spoke when he was forced to, and he should have been at Adamant with Anders.

“I’m not you.” she said, and went back to staring at the horizon, glad the pain and panic had abated a little at his appearance. Annoyance was a good counter to heartbreak.

Hawke laughed, “That’s obvious. You’re not nearly so personable. And when I have a bone to pick with someone, that someone dies; he doesn’t get patched up and fussed over like a babe in arms.”

She sighed, “So is that why you’re here, Hawke? Do you have a bone to pick with me?” As quick as a flash he was up and round, looking down at her with a strangely intent look on his face and for a moment she honestly didn’t know if he was going to stick that knife between her ribs or kiss her. Since she was too worn out to care either way she just stood, waiting for his next move and after a moment he grinned and stepped away.

“I’ve never seen you back down yet, not to anything. It’s impressive.” He bowed to her, a flashy, Orlesian kind of bow that made her want to slap the pomposity out of him. But the last thing anyone needed was for her to get into a bitchfight with someone who hated her, especially in a secluded spot. So instead she curtseyed back, with the same affected manner, and said,

“Why thank you, my lord. I never expected such a compliment.” She thought he would sneer at her but instead he laughed. He actually snorted with genuine laughter and it made her feel completely wrong-footed.

“I bet.” He paused and his face became serious, his voice strangely gentle. It reminded her of the time she had broken her arm while they trained in Honnleath and how he had treated her like a spooked horse, how he had carried her to Anders. It also reminded her how Krem had broken his jaw in return and tears pricked her eyes again. “Hey, Princess. Don’t cry, not now.”

She turned away from him and muttered, “What do you want, Hawke?” reluctant to let him see the emotions the memory had stirred.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said. “For Anders, and for Justice. And I know you didn’t do it for me but if Justice hadn’t been in the Fade…”

She turned to him and frowned. “I did it as much for you as for Anders or for Alistair.” Her shoulders slumped as she tried to explain. “I couldn’t see something I could do just pass by, I couldn’t let Max leave you or Alistair in the Fade - and you would, both of you would have argued whose right it was to stay, both of you would have left people behind who love you. Anders deserved to be free. You deserved to come home to him, just as much as Alistair deserved to come home to Leliana. I know you hate me, but that doesn’t mean I hate you or that even if I did I wouldn’t do everything in my power to help you.”

“Like you’re helping him in there?” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the infirmary and its Qunari occupant.

“Yes,” she answered. “I hate him, I can barely look at him, I don’t care if he’s a wreck after what he did, there’s plenty with far more right than him to be wrecked by it.”

“Krem was a good man, the rest of the Chargers, they were good too but Krem, he was special. And he had a mean right hook.” he laughed, rubbing the side of the jaw that Krem had shattered that time. “Warned me several times what he’d do if I ever hurt you again - as if I actually meant to hurt you that time.”

“I fell wrong. I did tell him that at the time but he didn’t really listen.”

“The guy was completely stuck on you, I’m lucky he only broke my jaw.” He noticed her frowning again. “Ah, you didn’t know?” She nodded. “Bull and Max both warned him off, even Anders did. You’re going home, he would be staying here, where’s the happy ending in that?” She nodded again, forcing the tears back down. It felt like all the ice around her heart was melting, that the grief she had channelled into hostility when she hadn’t pushed it into her work was suddenly bubbling up through the cracks. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of Hawke, didn’t want to open herself to his ridicule, but somehow he wasn’t looking at her with contempt, but with something like sympathy. Then he shook himself.

“So anyway, I wanted to say thank you. Anders will be along later today, they’ve left Adamant to fall into the Abyss if it likes, there’s a few convalescents will need to stay here but the rest will be up and moving on as soon as he can fix them up. I know he’ll want to see you, to say thank you himself but, well, I just wanted to say it first. For me. So you know I mean it.”

With that he grinned and threw himself over the edge to slide down the ladder. She watched him running round the side of the Keep, knowing he was probably heading back to wherever Anders was. Maybe they would never be friends, but somehow, she was thankful for that moment with him, happy that he had thanked her himself, for himself. Then she shook herself and started down the ladder. If there were healers and wounded heading there way there would have to be preparations made, beds found, food prepared. Anders would heal Bull and the rest and they could leave this Gods-forsaken place and get back to Skyhold. Then, maybe she could get a little bit closer to getting home.


	14. The Well of Sorrows

“She’s burning up!” Gwen held her breath for a moment then let it out slowly, careful not to let so much as a sigh be heard. Alistair was driving her up the wall in his worry over Morrigan. The Grey Wardens had been almost wiped out in their efforts on behalf of the Inquisition so they had been recalled to Skyhold to recuperate and while Alistair had initially complained about not being allowed to join them in the Wilds, he had been more than glad to be there when Max and his companions had suddenly appeared through the eluvian. But this was the fourth time he had dragged her from her patients in his anxiety about Morrigan and not only was he disrupting her work, he was upsetting Kieran who was hovering in the background, staring at his parents with wide, scared eyes.

“She’s overheated by the five blankets and two furs you have on her, Alistair, she doesn’t have a fever.” She shifted all but one blanket and one fur off the sleeping woman.

“She was shivering, you said to keep her warm.” His tone was sharp and accusing, frustration at something he couldn’t ‘fix’ directed at the person he expected to make it all better.

“I told you to make sure she wasn’t chilled. As Connor and I both explained, the shivering was probably the adrenaline running out, you must have experienced that yourself after a battle.” Of course he had, but the shakes had started hours after they had returned. “Delayed reaction to a big event isn’t unusual, Alistair. Morrigan’s perfectly healthy physically, but she’s going through a lot mentally. She’ll be fine.”

“Huh, why aren’t there proper healers here…” She raised her eyebrow and he flushed. “Er, I mean, if Anders was here…”

“Connor has been doing very well in his training, he’s perfectly competent. And Anders would tell you exactly what we have. But the healers are needed where the fighting is and you know why Connor is here.” The mage was terrified of his powers and battlefields swarming with dark magic and demons were not anywhere he needed to be. To have passed his Harrowing when he might have asked to be made Tranquil spoke volumes about his strength, but he was still a hugely traumatised young man and learning healing at Skyhold had given him hope and purpose. He would never be an Anders or a Wynne, but then their unique powers were what had made them legends. Instead he compensated for a lack of magical talent by being a hard worker and an excellent alchemist. Then too, Connor worshipped Alistair almost as much as Morrigan for their parts in saving him and Redcliffe and had spoken to her privately of wishing they could have grown up together as cousins instead of being split apart by his mother’s jealousy when he was only a baby. The hero-worship made Alistair uncomfortable but he knew Connor would never lie to him about the woman who had walked the Fade to save his life.

Gwen glanced at Kieran and smiled. “She’ll be fine, Kieran. She just needs rest.” The boy looked at her and smiled back.

“I know, I can hear them talking to her, she needs to learn what they know so she can beat Corypheus and send you home.” The complete, unshakeable belief in his mother was sweet. It reminded Gwen of her little sister and her absolute faith in Gwen’s ability to fix every illness and injury in existence because her big sister was a nurse and therefore a mixture of doctor, witch and goddess in the eyes of an adoring six year old.

“I need to speak to Alistair privately, do you want to come over and sit with your mum, we’ll just be over in the corner?” Kieran nodded and took the seat Alistair grudgingly gave up. Truthfully, he hadn’t been shunning the boy, Kieran had been sent to his lessons as usual and then Blackwall had taken him for a little sword training to distract him. But Alistair had loved Morrigan for a decade and only just met his son, so in the moment it was hard for him to give her up to anyone, even their child. The adults moved over to the corner window and Gwen looked up at the warrior. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles under them, long weeks of campaigning and coming home to rest only to be faced with this, Alistair was on the verge of falling apart.

“If I give you a note for Leliana, would you take it for me?” Gwen asked.

“That depends,” he replied as the corner of his mouth twitched up in an almost smile. “Is it going to say, ‘Please get me some special healing herbs I need’ or is it more along the lines of, ‘please keep this nuisance out of my way’?” 

She smirked, “Can’t it say both? I’m sorry Alistair, I know you’re worried but in the interests of full disclosure, I’m getting really close to stabbing you in the eye right now. You’re actually hindering us and Morrigan with all this fussing and I had to leave people who are actually sick to come here because you smothered her in enough blankets to melt a glacier.” He opened his mouth to interrupt and she placed a finger over it. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m trying to be your friend, or - well - Morrigan’s friend really since you’re a bloody annoyance, but I’m going to tell you, either go fuck your girlfriend till neither of you can walk straight, or find Max or Blackwall and batter lumps out of each other if you prefer, or you’re going to be asking Bull if he has a spare eye-patch and time to teach you to fight without distance vision. You are not helping Morrigan and right now you’re just pissing me off.”

Alistair looked surprised, then a bit ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

Gwen melted. “I know, but it’s not helping. I’ll stay with them for a while, you go find some kind of physical distraction. Now, do you want that note?” He laughed quietly and shook his head. Then he went over to say a few words to his son, putting his hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder in approval before heading to the door. Once he was gone, Gwen walked over to Kieran.

“Are you ok? Did Blackwall remember to feed you before he brought you back?” 

The boy looked back at her with that fey expression that meant he was seeing more than she understood, then nodded and went back to watching his mother so Gwen started pottering about, putting the extra blankets and furs back in the chest at the end of the bed, tidying up little bits and pieces and putting out fresh water for Kieran and Morrigan. Then she sat in the armchair beside the fire and pulled out a book from the bag she had brought with her, settling in to read until she was needed.

\------

He walked through the overgrown ruins, listening to the stories they told, hearing the welcoming hum of the temple that had been his second home, once upon a time. Shadows of the wounded flickered in and out as they dreamed, oblivious to the somniarus in their midst, even the mages who remained were too much in pain, or too drugged with potions, to enter the Fade, and Solas walked the empty paths in silence.

_ He could not see the marble clad buildings, or hear the singing of the spirits in the trees. He ignored Compassion and Justice as they hovered near him, drowned out by grief and hatred. These streets he could walk in his sleep, his feet taking him to the temple as they had so many times before. The sunlight was dying, but wisps lit the boulevards as the followers of Mythal went about their business or their pleasure, the tree of life on their faces as barren as his heart. _

It took thousands of years for the jungle to grow over and around the city, for walls to be pulled down until all the was left were the hints of the heart of Mythal’s power.

_ Vheron stood at the entrance, watching his approach. The priest was silent, calm, in spite of the aura He projected, the image of the wolf overlying the man, strongest over the face. Only among themselves did the Evanuris wear their own faces, even their most favoured slaves saw their totem glamoured over them. As they did, so did Fen’Harel. The High Priest of Mythal knelt only for his Goddess, but he bowed low for her friend, the Dread Wolf. _

_ “Ring the bells,” His voice was hoarse, his throat torn with the shouts of rage that had echoed through the mountains. “Douse the fires in the Sanctum.” Vheron straightened, his face no longer blank, instead he looked like he had taken a sword straight into his guts, a sword Fen’Harel twisted with every word. “Ring the bells, damn you!” He raised his arm and every bell in the city began to knell the mourning tones, He strode through the temple, ignoring the votive path as the walls themselves shifted for him, until He reached the Sanctum of the Mother. The fires burned for the Mother of All, eternal as She was. But now the Wolf reached out and snuffed them, not smoke nor heat remaining, braziers empty as if the flame had never been and the priests and priestesses fell to their knees and howled their pain as they knew now that their Mother was dead. _

He was glad Maxwell had chosen the penitent’s path to enter the temple, to do otherwise would have felt too much like sacrilege. But here, in the Fade, Solas took the secret path, the one he had regularly taken those thousands of years before. This had been Mythal’s favourite home, the place where she kept her Well, where her most favoured servants were placed. His first priority had been to protect it, his first act to hide it, before he sought his vengeance. 

_ Vheron had followed Him in silence. He could have been carved from ice. And then he did the unthinkable. He prostrated himself before Fen'Harel, lying face down on the ground, ignoring the gasps from those around as Mythal's chosen looked up at The Wolf.  _

_ "Great Lord," he intoned, "I beg you, let me seek justice for our Mother at your side."  _

_ Fen'Harel glanced down at him. "There will be justice." He walked past the elf, who made no move to stand, towards the altar. He held His arm out and took His knife to the palm, letting blood run freely over the flawless white marble. "There will be justice."  _

He remembered that day. Excepting only the years in Uthenera he remembered every moment of every day of his long life. All his plans had been in place for months before but he had stayed his hand. Mythal had entreated him to wait, to listen to reason instead of hot-headed pride and in the end it was she who suffered for his complacence. When he had entered the Temple that day, he had only one way left to honour her. Today he had returned and seen others do her honour, had watched humans approach her Well with humility. He had been impressed with Morrigan and her determination to preserve the knowledge of Mythal, committing to her service with flippant remarks but also a true passion and reverence. The Sentinels had lost their way, their mission to protect the Well from those who would squander its gift twisted into the threat of destroying it to keep it from profane hands, without thought for what that meant. With the Well gone and its Sentinels finally at rest, the Temple felt peaceful, loved again, as if whatever wisp of Mythal might still exist approved of what had happened here. 

_ He turned away from the altar, hand sealed, deliberately scarred, to see every one of Her Chosen kneeling before Him and He knew how this Temple would be protected.  _

_ "From this day forward, you are Sentinels. I charge you with protecting Mythal's Well from the unworthy. You will sleep, and awaken only when those who threaten are near. Vheron will lead you."  _

_ He stepped down and placed his hand on Vheron's head, weaving the enchantments that tied their life force to the Well. Finally the priest stood and looked him in the eye, his people rising behind him.  _

_ "Vheron is no more," he said. "There is only Abelas."  _

\-----

“Mother?” Kieran’s voice roused Gwen from the light doze she had fallen into over her book and she stood to check on the woman. Morrigan’s eyes were open, if slightly glazed, and she turned instinctively to the sound of her son and the feel of his hand as he lifted hers. Her gaze sharpened quickly as she realised where she was, then softened at the sight of her boy and she spared only a brief glance for Gwen as she took the water the healer offered.

“Kieran?” The rich voice cracked slightly and she cleared her throat and began again. “Kieran, sweetheart, are you well?”

The boy leaned into her open arms, “I was so worried Mother, I thought you wouldn't be able to get away from the voices and come back to me.”

Morrigan stroked his hair and back softly. “I will always come back to you, my heart. Always!” She looked up at Gwen. “I thank you for your care, healer, but I am quite well. I would like some time with my son, we have been apart for too long now.”

Gwen nodded and started to collect the few things she had brought. “I’ll see the kitchens send you some food, Morrigan. I’m afraid I kicked Alistair out for being overly puppyish,” the witch laughed at the thought of it, “but he probably won’t stay away too long. If you need anything, send someone for me.” She desperately wanted to ask Morrigan if she had learned anything about sending her home. It was selfish, but time was getting short. The remnants from the Silent Ruins had not offered much help, Dorian already knew more about that kind of magic than the Ancient Tevinters had known, and they had nothing but vague ideas and hope. But the woman had just woken and wanted to be with her son, so Gwen kept her mouth closed and headed for the door.

“Gwen,” she turned to look at Morrigan. “I believe I have a solution to your problem, but I need time to think it through. I will discuss it with you tomorrow. But it depends on finding the one person it will depend on beyond anything. You must find Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf.”


	15. The Dread Wolf

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s impossible!”

“Why?”

“Absolutely not!”

“I don’t fucking believe this.”

“Believe it, Guinevere. I will not expose myself and everything I am working for to go on a wild goose chase for a hedge witch.”

“A hedge witch with thousands of years of knowledge in her head, who you admit you respect and who is doing this as a favour to me, a person she barely knows, when you’re the one who dragged me here in the first place. You owe me, Solas!”

Solas glared down at Gwen, resisting the urge to simply push her aside and leave the rotunda. “I never intended this and you cannot hold it over my head every time you want something, Guinevere. I have helped as much as I can, myself, Dorian and Anders have spent time that we owed the Inquisition on finding ways to send you home and I am sorry that we can give you no promises as the reopening of the Breach comes closer.”

“Days, Solas!” Gwen interrupted. “The advisors are back, the army isn’t, it could be any time now and you still can’t promise me anything. Morrigan believes this book gives instructions on how to direct any eluvian anywhere at any time, even beyond this realm.”

“That does not necessarily mean into another universe.” His tone was heavy with doubt. “And there are no guarantees this book even exists. If what you say is true, I may be trapped in the Library when Corypheus opens the Breach, searching among ruins for something destroyed long ago while my chance to regain my orb is wasted. And what will I say to Max? I have no more intention of telling him the truth of myself now than I did a year ago.”

The insufferable woman started pacing, processing ideas in her head. He knew she still hid things from him, as he did from her. But if time was really so short, this foray into a place long gone could ruin everything he had been working towards since the explosion at the Conclave failed to kill Corypheus. It occurred to him that she knew if he retrieved his orb, if his plans succeeded, surely she must know if he successfully removed the Veil. Would she hold the knowledge over his head to get her own way? Did he need to know, did he need the justification, or the hope her confirmation would bring? 

Gwen turned to him, eyes slitted with suspicion. “Abelas didn’t recognise you.”

Ah, he thought. “No, why would he?”

“Because you were there when they became sentinels weren’t you? They wouldn’t have been needed before Mythal’s death. If they were her most trusted followers and you were as close as you claim, why would they not know you?”

“Perhaps I never entered that temple?” He kept his tone cool, his face neutral.

“Bullshit. You knew the paths, the puzzles, your statues were everywhere. They knew you, but they didn’t recognise you. So what did you do?”

He sighed and sat in his chair, conceding defeat in this at least. “All the Evanuris wore a glamour that hid their faces, instead their followers saw the image of their totem. That is why they are portrayed as such in mosaics. It is also why Abelas did not recognise me, he had never once seen my face, only the mask of the Dread Wolf.”

“So why can’t you meet Morrigan wearing that glamour? She would never know it was you, she’s barely even met you.” There was a light of hope in those charcoal eyes and his heart sank to see it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him, determined to put this nonsense to rest.

“The Library was huge, and now it is fractured, filled with demons and traps, do you not think I have tried to regain some of the knowledge that was lost to us? And now you tell me I have only days, maybe not even that, in which to find a single book; a book that may contain the information you need, at the possible cost of my own mission. You want to go home, I know very well how that feels. But I want to save an entire people, I want to return the world to what it was, to raise the Elvhen to their destiny, to bring back the magic and miracle that I destroyed and you want me to risk it for one selfish little girl who is homesick?”

His voice cut deeper than a sword could as he finally and definitely crushed her remaining hopes with his words. She couldn’t bear to be near him any longer, couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck in this world for the rest of her life, cut off from everyone and everything she loved. She pushed down the pain that wanted to force itself from her mouth and silently left the rotunda.

\------

“... Yes, she was definitely Mythal. Morrigan couldn’t even lift a hand… Oh, Solas, I was looking for you.” Max and Dorian entered the room as Solas stood, startled by the mention of Mythal.

“Inquisitor.” He inclined his head, not wanting to seem too desperate to hear whatever news Max brought. “You have information about Mythal?” It seemed unlikely, surely he had heard wrong, but Morrigan had bound herself to the Goddess. If something, even an echo of Mythal still lived, he needed to know.

“Yes.” Max pulled a chair over to the table and sat in it while Dorian made his apologies and walked through to the door leading to Cullen’s office, no doubt to spend time with his lover under pretence of passing on this news. “As I understand it, Morrigan’s mother is an ancient witch called Flemeth who became an abomination to revenge herself on an unfaithful lover or some such. Only now it appears it was no demon Flemeth bound herself to, but the spirit of Mythal. She enticed Kieran to her through the eluvian and of course Morrigan followed. Leliana was there and came to get me, which is how I ended up involved. Anyway, Flemeth, or Mythal I suppose, gave Morrigan an ultimatum, to be hounded for the rest of her life or to hand over her son and she would never hear from her mother again.”

“I assume that the second option was rejected. I cannot imagine Morrigan choosing anything over her son, yet it is a strange thing for Mythal to do. She believed in justice above all and she was the mother of us all. To make such a demand of a mother, it seems unlikely.” And disturbing, given all he had heard of the witch Flemeth.

“And then some. Morrigan has a tongue on her even when she’s not enraged, and there seems to have been some major mother-daughter tension since Mor believed Flemeth intended to possess the boy. Anyway, the upshot is, whatever strange powers the boy had, Mythal apparently absorbed them. He’s a normal boy now and Morrigan isn’t happy at all. But we also have the means to destroy Corypheus so we’re going to take the battle to him.” Max stood and Solas joined him.

“I presume Dorian was sent to summon Cullen to a meeting in the War Room then? Should I find the others?” Information like this meant a full war council, with all the Inner Circle. Hawke and his friends were still with the army, although Varric had returned the day before, but the rest were in Skyhold, resting from the hard travel after the battle.

“No.” Said Max. “Tomorrow. I will meet with Cullen, Josie and Ana at the tenth bell. I want the rest of you there at noon. For tonight I want you all to rest.”

“And what will you do Inquisitor?” 

“I have someone I need to see.”

\------

The note had no defining characteristics. Morrigan didn’t recognise the handwriting, it was on a simple scrap of parchment that could have come from anywhere, nothing told her who had written it or who might have placed it on the table in her room. But the voices told her to trust and so trust she did. She may not be able to put her faith in Flemeth, but the priests who echoed in her head were untainted by the witch’s malice and if she did not trust them she would drive herself mad. So she settled Kieran down to sleep, singing the lullaby she had learned just for him, the lullaby Kallian had taught her the night he was conceived, when she had run from her love to her friend, broken-hearted by the path before her, unable to sleep beside one she would walk away from without a backward glance, when all she wanted was to grow old with him.

There was safety in Skyhold, but old habits died hard and she wove numerous wards around the doors and windows before heading for the locked room containing her eluvian. She hadn’t told Merrill about this meeting, concerned about the woman’s superstition regarding Fen’Harel, but it would have been nice to have her company to soothe Morrigan’s nerves. Merrill’s chatter reminded her Kallian in the early days, battling the shadows of her past with hope and cheer. But tonight she would be on her own.

The door was still locked when she arrived, but somehow she was unsurprised by the figure waiting inside, examining the dormant eluvian. He was dressed in hunting leathers like those the Dalish wore, the staff slung across his back was a twisted branch that looked charred and unimpressive but sang with power. He turned towards her and she started to see the wolf’s head on his shoulders. She had expected it to be symbolic, the pictures of the Creators with their animal heads, she had thought it only represented the animal they could shift into, but there was no sign of an elven face, no elven eyes peering out at her, all there was, was the wolf.

The two considered each other for a moment and the voices in her head told her that this was Fen’Harel, to be cautious, wary before the Trickster. She did what Morrigan had done for few in her life, she bowed her head and curtseyed gracefully.

“I am grateful for your presence.” She spoke quietly, unsure whether he would acknowledge her words. “I seek a favour.”

Fen’Harel inclined his head and in a deep voice that did not seem to come from the wolf’s mouth, said, “What do you offer for this favour, child of Mythal?”

“What would you ask of me?” She spoke carefully, it was important to promise nothing concrete, to commit to nothing that would compromise the Inquisition. She had warned Gwen that there were limits to what could be offered.

“You seek the ‘ _ Teithio'r Pylu _ ’, a single book in a ruined library. You must offer something of equal worth.” She frowned, unsure of what she could offer that the Dread Wolf would consider equal. He continued, a hint of humour now noticeable as Morrigan became more and more uncomfortable. “You drank of the  _ Vir’abelasan _ and are a child of our Mother. But you are her child twice over, are you not? The spirit of my friend, my muse, dwells within the mother of your body. I will bring you the book and you will give me the means to seek Mythal, to find the sister of my heart once again.”

Morrigan hesitated. “What means are these?” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady when she wanted to run from the God before her, her back rigid when she wanted to kneel in obeisance at the power pouring from him.

He laughed. “Only a vial of your blood, da’len, a few drops given freely, in exchange for the means to send your friend beyond the bounds of our reality.”

Blood. She understood blood magic, knew it was only a means to an end, that the corruption was in abuse. But as a child she had run from the Templars who would take her blood to bind her into slavery, as a maiden she had lured them to their deaths. She had borne a child in blood and pain and knew the magic within it - blood marked the passage of her life, from child to maiden, from maiden to mother, and one day it would dry within her to mark her as a crone, no longer a bringer of life but one who eases those from it. She would not pervert the course of life as her mother had, she wished only to see her son grow, had no need for thousands of years of empty revenge, but to give her blood, even to help a friend. This was no small thing he asked.

Fen’Harel tilted his head, seeming to see into her mind and read the turbulent thoughts there. He moved as if to depart through the eluvian, it’s surface suddenly shimmering, when she held out her hand and cried, ‘Stop.” He turned to look at her, watching as she moved towards him, the hand still extended, her wrist exposed.

He nodded, and before she could think a small silver knife had cut along her forearm, a crystal vial held where the blood would drip into it. Only an ounce or so, such a little amount, but she felt light-headed at the enormity of it. He drew his finger along the cut and it was sealed, as if it had never been. Without a word he turned and disappeared into the mirror and she sank to the floor, dazed by it all. How long she sat she did not know but without warning the eluvian once more began to shimmer and the Dread Wolf walked out of it. He placed a leather bound book on the floor beside her and touched her hair almost affectionately, as one would a beloved child, much as she smoothed Kieran’s hair as he drifted to sleep. Then Fen’Harel disappeared back into the eluvian and it went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teithio'r Pylu - Travelling The Fade (in Welsh)


	16. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - Suicidal Ideation

Gwen hadn’t spoken to anyone in days when Morrigan knocked on her door. Since the argument with Solas she had kept to her rooms, ignoring the messages that Cullen or Dorian or Cole slipped under her locked door, the food that grew cold on trays left on her mat. She was hiding from the truth, from the finality of Solas’ words. The longer they sat here with nothing happening, the closer they came to the Breach reopening and then closing with her still on this side of it. Only the Dread Wolf could get the book Morrigan needed and he had been very clear in his refusal. Every other path they had explored had been a dead end. She would never go home, never see them again, they would never know what had happened to her. That was the worst of it, not knowing, never having closure, imagining horrors without end and never being given the truth.

She sipped at the remains of the jug of water she had snatched off one of the trays. It was so tempting to just drown her sorrows in the bottles of wine and brandy sitting in the small sideboard but somehow she couldn’t. After. When even the tiny, pitiful hope for a miracle she still harboured was completely gone, then she would empty every bottle. Perhaps then she would drain the sedative potions she kept for the worst panic attacks. Each evening she took them out of the cupboard and lined them up beside the alcohol, counting each bottle, wondering how many she could drink before they put her to sleep, how she could ensure it was enough that she never woke up. She wondered if that was the way back to Earth, back to them? If she died here would she wake there, safe and loved, surrounded by her family? Or would she just die, would they burn her body on the pyre as they had Krem and the other Chargers? Maybe a few would be sad, she hoped those she considered friends would mourn a little, but only a little, she had never been meant to stay; she had come into their lives, helped very little, always intending to move on, to go home. Now there was only one way that could happen and then she would be happy and they would forget the awkward, useless woman who had joined them for this strange year. So she sipped her water, content in the knowledge that soon it would all be over and she would be at peace.

She had every intention of ignoring Morrigan’s knock as she had ignored the others. Acknowledging people meant having to make herself presentable, put on actual clothing, brush her hair. There wasn’t any point really. Of course, she should have realised that while the well meaning gentlemen of Skyhold were happy to respect boundaries, the women had no intention of doing any such thing. She missed the slight click as the lock was picked so she almost hit the ceiling when her door opened and the witch stormed in, closely followed by Leliana, Kallian and Merrill, the latter carrying a tray loaded with enough food for double the number in the room.

“What the fuck…” Was as far as she got before Morrigan dragged her off the couch by the arm and into the bathing chamber. The light seeping past the drapes told her it was barely dawn but Morrigan quickly filled the tub with ice then warmed it before chivvying Gwen out of her sleeping gown and into the bath, adding a stimulating blend of oils that jolted the confused healer into alertness.

“We’ve no time for this, Gwen,” said Morrigan, pouring water over her hair and rubbing soap into her scalp with hands that were deceptively gentle given her brusque tone. “We need to key the eluvian to you before the meeting today, there may not be time after.”

Gwen blinked, completely confused. “Key?” Morrigan paused, then huffed and went back to washing her hair.

“I see Leliana was right, you have been ignoring the messages. Come, there is no time for this nonsense.” She wrung out Gwen’s hair and wrapped a linen round it before chivvying her out of the tub, drying her down while ignoring her protests that she was perfectly capable and then pushed her out the door to where Ana held out a simple tunic and leggings that she was instructed to get into. Finally she was told to sit at the table where Merrill and Kallian had laid out a ridiculous amount of food. She sat down, stunned, and watched them fill their plates, pour water and milk and start to chatter as they ate, ignoring her empty plate and glass and her lack of response to their conversation.

“Are you sure this will work?” Leliana spread the soft goats cheese onto a small slice of bread and put it on Gwen’s plate without looking in her direction, seemingly intent on Morrigan and Merrill as they both mused on the question.

“It should,” replied Merrill. “I tried it earlier and it took me to right outside Kirkwall, where my clan used to live.” She looked a little sad. “I didn’t realise I still thought of there as my home.” Morrigan squeezed her shoulder in sympathy.

“The book is quite clear, eluvians are generally keyed to a particular place, via the Crossroads. But you can instead link them to a person and they will take that specific person to the place their heart calls home. Merrill and I will cast the spell together to bind Gwen and my eluvian. Then, when the Breach does reopen, she can use it to take her home.” She looked over at Gwen, who was looking dazed and not a little confused. “I would not try it unless the Breach were open though, ‘tis unlikely to be able to cross the Void at any other time.”

“Book?” She couldn’t mean the book from the library, the book Solas had refused to get for her. “How?”

Morrigan frowned at her. “Your contact must have reached Fen’Harel in time. He met me last night and retrieved the book for me. I sent the message to meet me, the one you evidently ignored, as soon as he had gone.”

Disbelief and relief surged through her. “He came?” Why had he changed his mind? “Did something happen yesterday?”

Kallian laughed, “Only that it turns out Morrigan’s mother is not actually dead, in spite of the dragon carcass I left outside her house, but is actually alive and well and carrying about a little bit of an elven goddess in her head.”

Of course, he wouldn’t have done it for her, but to find a way to get to Mythal. “Did he… did Fen’Harel know?”

“Yes. That was his price, a vial of my blood to allow him to find her once again. It seemed a small price to pay.”

So that was how he found Mythal. Did he already know she had taken Urthemiel’s soul from Kieran, the power that could tip the balance in his mission, or was it as simple as he had told Morrigan. Gwen picked up the piece of bread and started nibbling at it, thinking about how it was unclear when after leaving the Inquisition Solas managed to find Flemeth. Then she started putting together other comments the women had made.

“Today.” She said it with finality and they all stopped eating to look at her. “You are meeting to discuss taking the fight to Corypheus.” It wasn’t a question but Leliana nodded.

“At the tenth bell, it’s after nine now. That is why we wanted to do this now, the rest of the Inner Circle will join us in the War Room at noon and after that we may have to move quickly…”

“It’s today. The Breach will open today, during the meeting. Corypheus is probably already at the temple.” Her words lit a fire under the others, Leliana and Kallian leaving to alert the others, Morrigan and Merrill almost dragging Gwen up to the room where the eluvian was kept. As they burst into the room they were already chanting, the eluvian glowing brighter and brighter as they came closer to it until Merrill grabbed Gwen’s arm and cut it open with her belt knife, ancient elvhen flowing from her mouth as she grabbed Gwen’s other hand, dipped it in her blood and used it to write a series of symbols on the malleable surface. When the last one was made the two mages brought their chanting to an end and the surface of the mirror darkened once again. While Merrill healed Gwen’s arm, Morrigan ran from the room, determined to check Kieran was safe before she prepared for the battle ahead.

“When the Breach opens, touch the eluvian and focus very hard on going home,” said Merrill. The elf suddenly hugged Gwen. “Thank you for everything, Guinevere. Thank you for helping Anders and Justice. I know they would want to be here today but if it is today then I will have to say goodbye for them. And for Hawke, surly bastard that he is sometimes, and Fenris and Bethany. We’ll never forget you, Gwen.” Then she was gone, and Gwen sat alone before the silent mirror and waited for the Breach to open.

It was strange, she thought. Everyone would be getting ready for the battle, somehow she thought she would have time to say goodbye, instead she had hidden in her room and now it was too late. If this worked then when they returned to Skyhold she would be gone. No last walk along the battlements with Cullen, no late night drinking session with Dorian, no opportunity to lose what little coin she had left in one of Varric’s games, basking in the camaraderie. She wished Anders was here, wished she could hug him and tell him how much she would miss him. As she waited she looked around the little room, trying to distract herself until the time came. There couldn’t be long now.

\------

It was chaos. Solas fought his way up and round the third terrace, Dorian mirroring him on the other side as Max and Cassandra pushed through the centre. Anders and his friends had reached the temple just after them, close enough to Haven when the Breach reopened to push themselves the last few miles. They stayed on the lowest level with Varric. Cullen, Alistair and the few soldiers Cullen had managed to bring had not been close enough when the temple rose into the sky and they fought on the ground, trying to ignore the masses of stone floating above them. The Commander had refused to stay behind himself and so Leliana commanded those left behind. They could only hope that some of them would return. The Iron Bull stood guard over Morrigan, the carcass of the corrupted dragon beside them, while Vivienne, Blackwall and Cole cleared the remaining demons on the other terraces. He knew where each of them were, these strange people who had become his friends. He would not let them down, this time he could undo the damage he had caused, this time he could save those he had betrayed, a betrayal far worse than Blackwall’s petty lies. But he also had to get his orb back. Fixing this mess was only the beginning and he needed that orb. He was strong again, not yet at his full power, not even close, but strong enough to begin again, to build the foundations. Guinevere had been right, like her namesake long ago, he had acted without true thought, he who prided himself on knowledge and wisdom and twice acted too quickly on anger and twice others had paid the price. There would not be a third, this time would be different. 

The shade caught him unawares, battering into him with teeth and claws, shoving him to his knees. He had allowed himself to become distracted and in the moment it took to focus a mind blast to throw the creature off him, he took a deep score across his ribs. Lightning poured into the demon until there was nothing left but a pile of ichor and then there were three more to deal with before he could check the wound. He quickly sealed the wound then swallowed a healing potion and then a lyrium potion. He had one of each left and was almost at the end of his strength, the others would be much the same. They needed to end this, soon.

He pushed forward, running towards the final level just in time to see it blocked behind Max, to see the warrior disappearing in pursuit of Corypheus, barely noticing that his companions had been cut off from him. Cassandra threw herself against the barrier, again and again she tried to break it until Dorian pulled her away, blood running down her shoulder. The demons were all gone and the three of them sunk to the ground, exhausted. Solas summoned the energy to heal Cassandra’s shoulder. She had managed to dislocate it with that last push so Dorian held her while Solas manipulated it back into place, Cass taking the pain with gritted teeth. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the place where they had lost sight of Max and the sounds of battle that continued above gave no clue to what was really happening.

“Should we work our way back down?” asked Dorian, quietly. 

“No!” Cassandra sat up, pulling away from Dorian as if she would start to pound on the barrier once again.

“Cassandra, love, there’s nothing we can do here. That barrier will only fall if Corypheus is dead…”

“And if Max is too wounded to return to us when it does?” She refused to consider the alternative, they had wasted too much time already, she would not lose him again. “We need to be close.”

“There's still fighting below us.” Dorian didn’t think about his own love, didn’t dare wonder if Cullen was still alive. There was time to fall apart later, to count the bodies and mourn. For now, while Max was up there fighting for all of them, those below still faced the demons pouring from the rift. There would be supplies below, he hoped, they could aid their friends, resupply and make their way back up for Max.

Solas finally spoke up. “We are exhausted, Dorian. You have less mana left than I. Cassandra, I have done what healing I can, but you are still badly hurt. I suggest you both go below and find Anders. I will remain here, I can meditate to restore my mana and as soon as the barrier falls I will bring Max to you.” The warrior looked as if she would protest but Dorian put his hand on her arm and she stilled. She looked downcast as she nodded and allowed the mage to help her up. Dorian took two blue potions from his belt and passed them to Solas.

“No healing or regeneration ones left I’m afraid, but we’ll be back with plenty of both.” His eyes creased slightly, the closest to a smile he could come for now. Solas took the vials and nodded gratefully. Cassandra fumbled at her belt for the half-empty orange bottle that was all she had left and Solas accepted that too. It would keep Max alive long enough for help to come, if necessary. Then the other two left and Solas was alone.

He didn’t know how long he had sat, his awareness soaked in the Fade, garnering power from his connection to it, when everything changed. There was a massive blast of power directly above, flickers of red lightning around a stream of pure energy that poured itself into the Breach. He could only watch as the fate of the world was decided, would the Breach close or would it tear open completely, would all return to how it had been or would evil rule? His plan to destroy the Veil had been ill thought through, the violence of it, the turbulence in the Fade warping more spirits into demons and destroying the balance between them. The failed ritual, Corypheus’ endless interference and his refusal to die, had warped everything beyond recognition and now everything depended on one frail, flawed human. The power filling the Breach came to a peak and exploded, energy washing over everyone, non-mages blasted to their knees, mages holding their heads and screaming in agony. Solas barely held onto consciousness long enough to see the swirling hole in the sky slam shut once and for all. Then everything went black.

The crash of falling rocks pulled him back to awareness, the swooping in his stomach as gravity reasserted itself upon the temple making him glad he had not eaten that morning. He pulled himself upright, looking around and considering himself lucky that none of the massive stonework had crushed him as he wondered if any of his friends lay beneath the piles of rubble. The barrier had disappeared and he was quick to move through up the path, hoping beyond hope that Max would still be alive when he reached him. 

He stopped, struggling to take in what he saw. Max stood in the centre of a clearing, the remains of a room with an altar overgrown with red lyrium pulsing at the side. He was covered in blood and dirt and stone dust, exhausted, barely holding onto his sword, his shield discarded on the ground. There was no sign of Corypheus, no body, not even ashes, a mystery for later. He walked towards the Inquisitor, looking for obvious wounds and finding none, until his eye caught something far worse.

On the ground a little way away lay his orb, or what remained of it. Empty fragments of stone were all that remained and he couldn’t stop himself as he knelt and picked up the largest piece, desperately searching for that familiar power. He knew Max was speaking to him and he muttered some platitudes in return. He stood and looked at the human beside him. The Inquisition had served its purpose and he needed to find a new source of power for his purpose. It was time to move on. So he walked with Max down to where the rest gathered then slipped away as they surrounded their hero. His horse was steady but not fast, so he took the sure-footed frostback mountain horse that Cullen had ridden down and headed back to Skyhold, determined to get what he needed and leave before anyone could notice his absence.

There was little he wanted, his own staff, the one he had hidden, the book on eluvians taken from Morrigan’s room, a few supplies from the kitchens. Finally he entered the eluvian room. It was empty and for a moment he stopped to acknowledge the pain he felt at losing Guinevere. She had driven him crazy from the very beginning, argumentative, provoking, but with her he had been allowed to be himself. He would miss her. It was not in his nature to pray, he had no one to pray too, but he hoped she had found her way home, that she was not trapped in the Void, that she was with her loved ones and happy once again. There were scraps of parchment piled in front of the mirror, folded and marked with a name on each of them - Dorian, Anders, Cullen, Leliana, Solas. A letter for each of those she had been closest too. He took the one meant for him and then activated the eluvian and walked through it, leaving Skyhold forever.

\------

_ Dearest Solas, _

_ This is the hardest letter to write. I know you didn’t get the book for me, that you did it to get to Mythal. I hate you for that. I couldn't have lived here, not forever. There are 20 potions tucked away in my room in case this doesn’t work but I just want you to know that I hate you, but I don’t blame you. You think this isn’t your world but it is, you belong here. I know I can’t change what you want to do, I don’t even want to, but please, when you do it, be gentle about it, think about all the people you have met this year and how their lives have been damaged by what you did, don’t let it happen again. _

_ I didn’t mean to write this. I wanted to thank you for the past year. I wanted to tell you I love you and I’ll never forget you. The Inquisition has been my family for a little while and you can love your family even when you don’t like them. _

_ I’ll miss you. I’ll never forget you. _

_ Love, Guinevere. _


	17. Epilogue

The buzzing was driving her mad, the constant humming of fluorescent lights, the beeping of pumps, the shuffling footsteps up and down the corridor outside, doors opening and closing. The lights were far too bright, even at night it was never really dark and the artificial lighting hurt her eyes. She kept them shut as much as possible anyway, not wanting to talk, needing time to process, to adjust.

More footsteps and this time they stopped outside her room and she could just hear the voices through the slightly open door. The nurse who was looking after her today, Jenny, was explaining what was happening, what machines she was attached to, so someone must be coming to see her. The doctors had been round this morning but maybe it was the police again, asking her questions about where she had been, what had happened to her. She knew it wasn’t fair but it felt like they were trying to catch her out and her head was still a mess so she said nothing and let them think she couldn’t speak yet. It bought her time.

“Are they sure it’s her?” Her heart almost stopped at that voice, that beloved voice and she struggled to try to sit up, squinting against the glare, trying to make out shapes through the frosted glass.

“It has to be. It can’t…” A second voice, just as dear, trailed off, the sound of hope that had been kindled and then destroyed too many times before. How did they find them? How did they know, when she didn’t even know herself, not until she heard those voices. There was one missing, a third voice that belonged with the other two, she hadn’t heard it yet.

“I can’t answer that, I’m sorry. She hasn’t told us anything at all. The officer said the details he had matched a missing persons report but she hasn’t even told us her name. I’m sorry, she won’t talk to us, she doesn’t really even open her eyes much. If it is your friend…”

“Our wife!” There was the last voice, the one she had been waiting for, soft and calm as always and completely in charge of every situation, even when inside he really wasn’t in charge at all.

“Your wife, I’m sorry. If it is her, she probably looks quite different, you should prepare yourselves…” She wondered if there was a reason nurses were compulsive apologizers, sometimes it seemed like every sentence began or ended with I’m sorry. She knew she did it herself, as if not having a magic wand to make everything perfect was a personal flaw, something that required constant grovelling for forgiveness. She had stopped doing it, buoyed by professional respect and a culture that needed no apologies for things outside the control of others, would she relearn it again?

The IV line was kinked and pulling, tugging painfully against the back of her hand as she tried to move. Her catheter likewise pulled and for a moment she wondered if she could reach the syringes on the table and just take the damn thing out. But she didn’t want to cause trouble so she relaxed and straightened the drip, then shifted the catheter tubing closer so she could sit up more. She had almost got to where she could reach the bed control to sit up properly when the door opened and they all walked in.

“Oh, please, let me help. Don’t try to move that, oh!” Jenny jumped forward, moving the drip stand closer before she could pull it again, expertly nudging everything along or out of the way so she could support her movements, silencing the alarm that was protesting the continuous disruption of the IV. Amy pushed herself forward and started to help, at home with all the trapping of an intensive care bed, slipping effortlessly into ‘nurse mode’ as they all did in such a situation. The men just stood at the end of the bed and watched, silent and dazed as if trying to decide if this was the real world or a dream. Finally she was sitting up, reasonably comfortably, looking at them, drinking them in, feeling as if all her birthdays and Christmases had come at once.

Amy was just as tall and thin and perfect as ever, dark red hair longer than when she had last seen her, pale blue eyes flicking around monitors and pumps and only landing on the woman in front of her for a second at a time.

Ian couldn’t take his eyes off her, clenching his fists convulsively, almost shaking with the effort to stay in one place. He was as dark as Amy was pale but his skin looked ashen, as if she was a ghost and might disappear if he looked away. As calm as his beautiful voice had been, his body told her a very different story.

Chris was the one who walked forward, taking her hand, staggering as if his legs couldn’t take his weight. He had put on some of what he had lost and she couldn’t help lifting her hand to his face, feeling strong muscle along his jaw where he had been all but skin and bone. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

“Gwen.” The sound of her name was a trigger, suddenly she was surrounded by them, being hugged, kissed, tears falling freely down their faces. She had no idea how long they stayed like that, touching, talking to her, being with her, filling her with something she had thought she would never feel again - she was finally complete.

Ian leaned back. “We thought you were dead. What happened? Where have you been?”

“The police said you wouldn’t talk to them, they only found us because of your ring.” Amy was indignant, as if she had been stubborn in not speaking to the police, as if Gwen was at fault for being too overwhelmed. She didn’t take offense, she knew them so well, Ian wanted answers, logical, sensible answers that would explain everything clearly. Amy would be angry because she didn’t know how to say how frightened and heartbroken she had been. Chris, Chris would listen to anything she had to say, would ask questions to draw out whatever she missed, he would help her make sense of it in her own head. And now there would be time to do that. Time to soothe, to explain, to learn what had happened without her. She didn’t even know if she had been gone a full year or if time ran differently as so many books suggested it might. But none of that mattered, because she had finally woken up, and now they had time.

  
  
  



End file.
